


A Day in December

by Coffee_Reveries, nargleinafez



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Spies & Secret Agents, World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 74,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22032445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Reveries/pseuds/Coffee_Reveries, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nargleinafez/pseuds/nargleinafez
Summary: AU. In 2008, British secret agent and wizard Harry Potter meets muggle journalist and author Hermione Granger during a mission in Austria on Christmas Eve. What he thought would be a one-time encounter turns into tradition as two wildly different people become friends and meet once a year in a different place of the world. Eventually, friendship turns into love.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38





	1. Vienna

**Vienna, Austria**

December 2008

* * *

When M and the spymaster had both delivered him the mission of retrieving an important artifact stolen from the Isle of Avalon itself, Harry Potter had nearly doubled over and laughed to their faces. Yes, he was a wizard, yes magic and flying brooms existed, as well as hexes and curses, but even he was skeptical of the existence of such a place, or at the very least he'd been certain it'd been exclusively mythical for the better part of a thousand years. Otherwise, why on Earth did no one in Wizarding Britain know about it? Nevertheless, here he was in a foggy and cold Vienna hunting for an old block of granite with runic inscriptions. Just about the best way to celebrate Christmas.

He was rather breathless as he barely escaped the three Wizards that were following him ever since he had left the extraction site several minutes ago. He'd made a few long detours before declaring it safe enough for him to leave the crowded and heavily-decorated commercial district of Wizarding Vienna, packed with last-minute Christmas shoppers and smelling strongly of ginger, mulled wine and apple custard while holiday music could be heard all over, happy Austrian carolers belting out _O Tannenbaum_ like it would save all their lives. Harry approached a portly official-looking Wizard who stood by an 18-meter tall column depicting several Witches and Wizards looking upon a black gigantic magical bird, a phoenix, that carried a wand and a sword on each talon. He couldn't help but think that its craftsmanship was worlds better than the hideous victory fountain they'd installed in the middle of Diagon Alley, upon the one year anniversary of Voldemort's defeat… By Harry's own wand, that was. Words could not describe how much he loathed it, the mere memory of all the pain and loss he'd went through, and of all the war's casualties. A decade later and they were still rebuilding, the lot of them in England.

"Please wait a minute, sir." The Wizard spoke while referring to a watch-like device that had numerous astrological symbols and runes instead of numbers, and five different hands. Two hands started turning counterclockwise really fast until it stopped at two different symbols. "Very well, sir, you may go." He gestured towards the middle of the column. Harry entered through it feeling the cool water-like trickle of the automatic Disillusionment charm going through his body. A few more steps and he felt another sensation, recognizing his crossing of the magical boundaries that separated the muggle and wizarding versions of Vienna. Finally, he stepped out from the column, which was now the Pestsäule and into the famous Graben street.

Instead of feeling the warm effect of the charm wearing off, Harry was met with the cold and damp of the downpour of rain. He was only fortunate that his coat was already magicked to adjust to whatever weather the wearer would be experiencing and that the 'package' he just so carefully acquired was tucked safely in its inner pockets. He looked back at the entrance, making sure that none of them had followed him and then proceeded to cross the nearly empty street. The rain had gone heavier and everyone else was going indoors for shelter. Harry knew he couldn't return to his hotel yet, so he crossed a few more streets and cut into a corner before settling on a quaint café he'd been to yesterday: _Der Leopoldine_. It was all soft pastel colors in soft pinks and blues with golden swirls on the walls, attempting to mirror the fabulous and over-the-top decor of the imperial Habsburg palaces. Despite this, even he could recognize just how pleasant and cozy it was as he made to enter the establishment for the second time this week. A woman closing a bright-red umbrella was just beside him when he pushed the door open, her clothes were damp and so was her hair and the vanilla scent she carried, though he was certain it wasn't just vanilla.

"It seems like the London rain's following me," She said with a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes, though a small smile played at the corner of her lips. She had an English accent, London, not particularly posh but definitely of the kind that was Oxbridge educated. He let her enter first. "Good thing I thought of borrowing an umbrella before I left my hotel… You'd think that because I'm English I'd always carry one around with me..."

"Yeah," He mumbled distractedly as he scanned for a vacant table. The café was packed and it seemed like the only available spaces were the checkered tile floor or maybe the area behind the counter.

"Oh, look!" She pointed out happily, "there's a table with two chairs by that window over there. Would you mind if we shared it? It would be selfish of me not to invite you, seeing how crowded this place is..." It was rather disconcerting to him just how much she spoke, a mile a minute, but Harry couldn't deny the urge to rest and enjoy a nice hot cuppa. Tomorrow he'd be returning to London and hopefully in time for Christmas Eve at the Burrow. Just the thought of Molly Weasley's cooking made his mouth water, until it dawned on him that he probably wouldn't be very welcome this year, not after he'd ended his decade's long engagement to Ginny.

"Sharing, sure..." He answered, his brief moment of optimism shattered by the reality of his stupid, brash decisions. He should've ended things with Ginny after Christmas, then he wouldn't be in this sad and pathetic predicament with no family to celebrate the holidays with… Hell, not even a home he had.

They each took their seats on the tight table by the window, the grand avenue's belle-epoque buildings decked with garlands and Christmas lights shining in shades of red, gold and green reflected on each raindrop that fell. It was just after nine o'clock, the night sky painted a heavy and ugly gray. He looked at her for the first time that moment and found that her face was much more pleasant than he'd expected. Had he even expected anything? It truly didn't matter when her big dark eyes looked at him unabashedly, as if trying to read the very depths of his soul. He felt a shiver down his spine but it was definitely not of the sinister type… There was something about her, something about the intelligent glint in her eyes, or the mass of honey-brown curls that framed her face, the crimson of her cheeks from the wet and cold that made him warm all over... comfortable. Yes. She was as comfortable as pastel-colored cafes or steaming cups of hot chocolate on a cold winter day. How odd.

"And I am Hermione Granger, in case you were wondering or wanting to confirm…" She rattled on, with an amused smile. "Of course you must be wondering how someone like you could be stumbling into me in Vienna of all places, that's fame to you, but I guarantee you I'm just like any other person… And I do appreciate my coffee well-made. This place has excellent reviews according to the staff at my hotel." He was taken aback for a moment. Famous? Was this crazy, cozy-looking lady really famous? A cooking show host no doubt, as he never in his life ever laid eyes upon someone like her. And he never watched cooking shows.

He was about to awkwardly grumble something out when he was saved by the arrival of a waiter, a redhead of all kinds of people, sporting a notepad in hand.

" _Guten Abend, wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?_ " The man greeted with a smile, Harry and the famous woman before him both seemed to have at least one thing other than their nationalities in common as they both seemed to understand nothing of German, looking lost and stupid under the waiter's gaze.

"I'm sorry, we only speak English… Actually, I speak French, Greek, Italian and Latin too, but nothing of German, I'm sorry." She said, sheepishly. Harry slightly raised his eyebrows, impressed by her linguistic capabilities and the ease with which she bragged about herself, but impressively in a non totally arrogant way. Was that even humanly possible? For famous Miss Granger it seemed to be…

"Oh, not a problem, madam! Good evening, I am Tobias and I am your server tonight…" He handed them each a stylish menu and patiently waited for them to read through.

"Uhm, I'd like a cappushino, please, no sugar and a chicken sandwich…"

"It's Cap-uh-CHEE-no, not cappushino." She corrected and a part of Harry immediately regretted even agreeing to sit with her. "I'll have a black coffee and a double slice of apple pie with ice cream." He also realized she had a big appetite.

"Is that all?" The waiter asked and the insufferable little know-it-all nodded, shooting him a smile.

"Actually, I'd like a bottle of sparkling water, please."

"Right away, sir. Excuse me…" After the redhead walked away with their orders she turned to look at him.

"You never told me your name…" Harry's effort to control his tongue and his eyes from rolling were herculean at least as he glanced at her once again.

"I'm Harry, I was raised between Surrey and Scotland, and before you ask, I'm in Vienna on business." She smiled a smile that warmed him all over, the irritating woman.

"What line of business are you in?"

"Are you always this nosy with people you meet?" She didn't look taken aback for a second, but rather there was a mischievous and borderline sassy look in her eyes. He absolutely hated it. And then she laughed, not the subdued ladylike kind of laugh. It was genuine, shameless, melodic and absolutely lovely. The kind of laugh very few people had, the kind that drew others in.

"I suppose it comes with the job, I am a journalist after all." A journalist, of course. Perhaps the Rita bloody Skeeter of the muggle world? Was that why she was famous? All of a sudden Harry felt an urge to jump, bolt away for dear life, but he couldn't… There was something about her that drew him in like a moth to a flame. She was nosy, insufferable, arrogant and also, to Harry's despair, beautiful and charismatic as hell.

He momentarily thought about how she didn't fit into what was normally his type, but quickly disregarded the ridiculous notion. He had to remind himself that he had just ended a long term relationship and that he was not looking for a rebound. He looked away and fiddled with the pink table napkin on his right. If only the server could hurry up so that there'd be something to focus on instead of staring at this crazy stranger.

Harry felt her eyes on him and he couldn't help but raise his eyes in order to meet hers. She was looking at him curiously, as though he were some specimen being observed under a microscope. It was highly unnerving, he hated the scrutiny, always had.

"Your scar," She leaned closer to examine, nevermind his right to personal space.

"What–oh..." Passing through the boundary must have erased the effect of the glamour he'd always placed on the mark on his forehead. It was always a precautionary habit, second nature. After all, that stupid thing made him famous and anyone would have easily recognized him.

"It's shaped like a lightning bolt, how very curious. It's as if someone carved it on you! Where'd you get that from? I've never seen anything like it... I got a few scars myself but nothing specifically shaped like yours. There's one where..." She continued, gesticulating like a madwoman. Harry wondered if she was always this loquacious to strangers. He craned his neck looking for the server who was now taking orders from another table.

"... anyway, I accidentally stepped on my cousin's pet badger–-who keeps a pet badger right? And then it had bitten me here and that's how I got this really ugly scar on my ankle..." Harry wasn't sure where she was heading with this and if she expected him to explain how he got his scar. It was fairly obvious he wouldn't be telling her about how some psychopath tried to off him as a baby, it wasn't exactly an 'afternoon at a café' type of conversation. He let her ramble on because there was something in the way she emanated this joyous passion about whatever she was going on about that was fascinating to him. He'd only been this passionate about something when debating Quidditch with Ron and the lads. The fact that he found her stories interesting baffled him. He let his vision linger on her until he angled his head a bit to look outside the window and across the street. What he saw alerted him, and all hopes of a quiet evening and warm meal melted away. He knit his eyebrows, in concentration, his jaw tightening from the tension.

Over there, across the street stood a familiar lanky figure among the waiting pedestrians. When the crossing light turned green, the crowd began to walk and Harry got a clearer view of the man: silver hair and a haughty triangular face carved with a perpetual sneer. It was one of the dark wizards who had chased him barely half an hour ago.

"Merlin's beard," He cursed under his breath as his staring had caught the dark wizard's attention, prompting the man to hurriedly walk towards the café.

"Merlin's what? What did you just say?" Hermione's voice brought him to the reality of his situation. A dark wizard coming towards him in a café filled with muggles. He was sure that the other two would be alerted into coming here as well and he knew he could easily fight them off but the package… Harry didn't think he could protect it while dueling with the three. He knew he was in deep shit, none of this was supposed to happen. This was supposed to be a very easy extraction.

"Hermione," His voice was firm, almost like a father about to deliver a scolding, still, it shocked him how her name rolled off his tongue so naturally, the mouthful that it was. He slid out of his seat and took her arm, pulling her off her seat in the process.

"What do you think you're doing?" She demanded, looking very displeased but heeding him anyway as he pulled her away from their table. "If you're trying to kidnap me, my agent will find out later. This isn't the first time this has happened in my field."

"Shush! I'll explain." He groaned internally and huffed. It was idiotic, but it was the only way he could ensure the safety of the package. He led her towards the kitchen of the café, ignoring the angry German protests from the staff.

"Why did you bring me here? I shouldn't have offered you a seat! You're being rude. Honestly!"

Harry brought his left hand inside his coat pocket and procured the package. It was rectangular in shape and had a width of two hardbound books piled on top of each other. It was messily wrapped in some sort of parchment paper and twine.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, bemused on how that thing could've fit from his inner pocket. She thought he was going to hit her with it or something worse but instead he held it out towards her.

"I have no choice. Keep this package for me and get away from here, quickly." A few screams could be heard from the outside now. And her heartbeat madly in her chest as she looked into his green eyes, desperate to know why.

"Harry, what's fucking happening?" Her voice was understandably panicky.

"Hermione, just please keep this for me and protect it with your life." He gave the package to her with one hand. Thinking that it was heavy, she received it with two hands. Surprisingly it was as light as a paperback.

"How–" She was holding it awkwardly, brown eyes wide.

"No time for questions, Miss Granger." Harry interjected, his right hand was noticeably on the right side of his pocket, about to take out something else. "Go, go!" He pulled her again towards the service exit. "Don't come back here. I'll find you later. I'll handle this. I know you'll get curious but I really must insist that you head straight to your hotel. You'll be safer there and keep the package safe. All right?" He instructed as he encouragingly pushed her towards the back alley and stopped the door with his hand. Hermione could only nod and was about to say something but he'd disappeared already, and the last thing she registered before running off was a loud resounding crack coming from inside the café.

Hermione was suddenly terrified by the prospect of some terrorist attack and it was just in her nature to investigate but she found herself compelled to do what he'd told. She brought the package up, wondering what importance it could possibly have to cause such a commotion. Perhaps she could look over it at her hotel, surely she could be discreet enough for Harry to never find out.

...

Harry had just finished rounding up the three dark wizards when the Austrian Magical Law Enforcement squad arrived and started obliviating the muggle witnesses Harry had kept on lockdown.

"Were there any other Muggles who could have witnessed the entire thing and left the venue?" One of the Obliviators, a short man sporting an aubergine-colored ministry robe and an odd handlebar mustache, asked.

"Err...no… I locked everything down when they started coming in." He answered, making a mental note to obliviate her once this was all over. Hopefully, she followed his instructions and went straight to her hotel. And then it dawned on him, what hotel was she staying in? Just what he needed was another thing obstacle to deal with. "May I leave now?"

"Not yet, Herr Potter. I will have to ask you what business you have with these men. They're one of the most wanted criminals in Central Europe, responsible for the smuggling of priceless wizarding artifacts. And for them to have disrupted an entire muggle area because of you..." Harry didn't like the clipped and accusatory tone of the man's voice. He only sighed deeply and felt himself getting impatient.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you. It's top secret. I've already given you proof that I'm an Auror for the British ministry with direct authorization from your ministry to be here. What more do you need? Should I portkey you with me to London so that my superior could tell you the exact same thing?"

The Obliviator started smoothing his mustache and rereading Harry's badge and the parchment that the Ministry had provided for him. He grumbled in distaste, but even he had to recognize that there was nothing to justify detaining Harry for any longer. "Very well, Herr Potter, I'll be confirming this with both Austrian and British Ministries. Until then, I advise you not to leave the city or country within the next 24 hours otherwise we'll be deeming you an international fugitive."

"What the fuck do you mean?" Harry fumed. "Can't you bloody just accept?"

The Auror-obliviator ignored Harry's sudden outburst of anger. "Enjoy the rest of the day, sir and as we say in my language, Frohe Weihnachten!" The man returned to the rest of his squad, looking less pleased than his farewell would normally imply.

Harry left the newly repaired café muttering to himself and all of the sudden parched for a stiff drink. The rain was threatening to fall again as the temperatures went further down and he shivered into his jacket.

Meanwhile, back in her hotel room, Hermione Granger placed the package carefully on top of her bed and examined it closely.

"This could be a box of anthrax," She took it again and started shaking it. "Or a bomb! Oh, I'm in deep, deep trouble… Jesus bloody Christ, what did I get myself into? On your damn birthday of all days even! I could be endangering lives!" She bit her lower lip in frustration, going on full-on panic mode. And then it hit her, and she felt herself relax at least a bit more, "But then again, if it were anthrax or a bomb then the hotel security would've known when it went through the x-ray machine at the entrance and I'd probably be rotting in jail right about now!" And just like that, she started pacing around the room again, almost digging up a trench in the marble tiles.

Moments later Hermione decided to turn on the television and set it to the local news channel. She was waiting on any breaking news about what had transpired at the café earlier. It'd been almost an hour ago and there was no mention of it all. There was a mention of her upcoming press conference and premiere night, which made her beam. Of course, the excitement was short-lived. Her thoughts went back to the package. The intensity of her pacing increased, the frictional forces nearly creating a burn on the ornate Turkish rug in the sumptuous living area of the fancy suite her agent had arranged for her as a twisted sort of holiday gift, fancy rooms like this weren't really her normal. Suddenly feeling the tension on her shoulders, she decided to draw herself a bath with a few drops of rich Morrocan rose otto oil and ordered room service, a massive truffle burger with rosemary chips she'd been eyeing since her arrival and a local IPA brew because she was only human after all. She pinned her curls on top of her head and sunk herself deep inside the bathtub and let it rejuvenate her.

She remained in the bath for an hour after which she enjoyed her meal, even going as far as ordering a chocolate soufflé with vanilla ice cream and red berries to make up for the missed café meal from earlier. Determined to distract herself all through the day, she attempted to read a few more chapters of her current book and revised her notes for her interview for the millionth time. After staring at the same page for what seemed like forever, she put the book down in frustration and pouted almost like a little child. Her eyes traveled to the package now safely placed on the coffee table. There couldn't be any harm in peeking, could there? She was now quite certain it wasn't a bomb.

Hermione approached it again, her thoughts getting wilder and more fantastical by the minute.

"There could be drugs in this." She mumbled, the cogs in her brain trying to double the effort into figuring whatever was inside. "Could Harry be a drug dealer? Maybe he owed people and they were chasing him…" She gasped at the prospect. "Or maybe he stole the drugs… but then again he's probably too good-looking to be a drug guy…" She tried to shake off the image of his messy dark hair, his unkempt beard and the greenest eyes she'd ever seen hiding behind a pair of glasses. "Oh, don't be stupid Hermione," she muttered to herself, "you shouldn't stereotype drug dealers, I mean, blame the movies for bloody stereotypes and not teaching people any better… He should be claiming this back... did I tell him where to find me?" Panic rose inside her, "Oh, bloody hell! I'm probably caught in between some drug syndicate plot and he's probably dead by now! I hope he doesn't mention that I have it or else they might kill me next? What do I do with this package? Where do I hide if I'm next?" The relaxing bath she just had seemed to be an age ago already.

Hermione glared at the package now, as if challenging it to do something wicked. She gave herself a minute or two before giving in to the stupidest of ideas.

"Well, it's now or never, Hermione. If you open this and it blows up then it's your fault anyway." Slowly she loosened the twine, the anticipation killing her. Once that was done, she took three deep breaths and removed the parchment wrapper. This was too thrilling, a Cheshire cat smile played on her face and oh, if anyone caught the shine in her eyes. She had something illegal in her hands and entirely out of the ordinary. It was haphazardly wrapped in four different layers of wrapper and once she'd gotten to the last one, the Cheshire cat smile faltered with no hopes of resurrecting on her face. A huge bubble of disappointment enveloped her and she felt almost cheated.

The content of the package was a granite stone with writings that looked like something the Vikings would've used. She placed the stone back on the table and sank to the floor, eyebrows furrowed and frowning deeply.

"Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!" She exclaimed, feeling much like a fool for all her unwarranted panic and despair. Still, some thoughts gnawed on her: Why was Harry carrying this? What's his connection to this stone? What line of business required him to carry a heavy piece of ancient stone? Wait, but it wasn't heavy at all... It was actually light. For something made of granite stone, it should be much, much heavier!

"Hmm, curious. Very curious, indeed." She whispered, though she still wasn't entirely able to shake off all her disappointment.

...

An alarm reverberated through the room causing Harry to groan. There was a good pounding on his head from the drinking last night. His eyes were still closed when he tried to pat his hand on the side table for the snooze button. He was stuck here for the day and there was that other conundrum of having to track down that Hermione Granger because she had his package, which should be delivered into safer hands.

"It's time for the Morning Mayhem with Leonie and Jonas here on Antenne Wien 105.9. Brought to you by Koffee Magik, saving the tired world one cup of coffee at a time!" The alarm clock radio started. Harry groggily rolled out of his bed, looking for his glasses.

"Guten Morgen! It's 3 minutes past 8 on Christmas Eve here in the wonderful city of Vienna, have you finished your Christmas shopping yet? I'm Jonas Koch and right now it is indeed Christmas because I'm currently surrounded by two lovely women: my co-host Leonie Lang and our very special guest, Hermione Granger." Harry's eyes suddenly widened upon hearing her name. He turned up the volume.

"Thank you for that, Jonas, and as you've mentioned we have a very special guest. She's a world-renowned journalist and she's in town for the week for the premiere of her latest documentary 'The Holodomor Terror' at the Vienna International Film Festival. Of course, we've already known her for award-winning titles such as 'The Life and Times of Chernobyl' and 'Istanbul, A Tale of Three Cities' among the latest. Hallo Hermione!"

"Good morning! Thank you so much for having me on this show, Leonie and Jonas!"

"Wow, those are heavy titles to hear in the morning but very, very important as it pertains to one of the darkest corners of history. What made you choose the topic of what is considered one of the biggest contemporary human genocides, Hermione?" Jonas started.

"Well this was a topic I became interested in upon reading the articles by the Welsh journalist Gareth Jones, who discovered the terror in the Soviet Union in the 30s and I began to do my own research from there…" She began to answer with that enthusiasm now familiar to Harry. He couldn't help but smile, even though as the presenters said, the topic was serious and rather sanguinary sort. As someone who had experienced war and many atrocities up front, Harry couldn't help but wonder just why these things interested Hermione so. Perhaps he could ask her this in person before he retrieved his package and was forced to obliviate her.

Harry drifted on and off with the 30-minute interview. He was trying to look for clues on where she'd be after.

"Well, that's it for today. Thank you so much for the very compelling interview, Hermione, and thank you for the Vienna International Film Festival tickets you provided. Now, in the next five minutes we'll be gifting first callers with several of these!"

"Thank you for your time as well and especially for this wonderful apple strudel. This is heavenly! Where is it from?"

"We knew you'd like it! It's from the Demel bakery, a few blocks down from our station."

"Oh, jolly good!"

"Well, that's it for now. Don't forget to listen back to us again tomorrow. This is the Morning Mayhem with your hosts Leonie and Jonas here at the heart of Vienna. Enjoy the holidays!"

And with the mention of the apple strudel, Harry now had a good inkling on where he could find her. He couldn't help but chuckle and roll his eyes as he recalled the giant plate of pie she'd ordered the previous evening at the café and didn't get to eat. Hermione Granger and her appetite… it would be the death of her. With that, he finished getting dressed and headed for the door of his suite, anxious to find the insufferable little know-it-all.

...

The Bakery was found a few blocks from Naschmarkt, Vienna's biggest and most famous inner-city market. Harry stood in front of a bottle-green storefront with gold-lined window panes displaying today's freshly baked pastries. The topmost border embossed with Die Demel Bäckerei Est. 1849 in a classic Clarendon serif. The place was well-lit and decorated, like most establishments in Vienna seemed to be and soft jazz music played in the background, adding to the cozy feel. The place smelled of sweets and coffee, but not in an overwhelming way. As he entered, his eyes immediately scanned for any sign of wild curly hair, only to find her dressed in a bright red coat sitting by a large window to the right, pen and paper in hand. Harry didn't know why, but all of a sudden he felt a warm feeling take over him, a feeling that was a peculiar mix of joy and anticipation. He shouldn't however, be feeling these things. He had two very straightforward tasks to accomplish with Miss Granger and those consisted of retrieving the damn artifact and obliviate himself and any exposure to magic from her memory.

There was an ornate oval mirror with sculptures of little doves and he couldn't help but run a hand through his perpetually messy hair for some reason and try to straighten the wrinkles on his shirt… That was one charm he was still yet to learn from the Weasley matriarch. He walked toward her, Hermione's back to him and slid into the booth seat across from her.

"You're a very easy famous person to find…" He told her smoothly, wearing a cheeky grin as she stared back at him wide-eyed from surprise.

He watched with a smirk as her wide-eyes sharpened and her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

"Your package is at my hotel…" She responded, pointing her chin upwards haughtily and frowning. He thought she was absolutely adorable.

"I'm actually quite hungry this morning, didn't get anything to eat last night after all, you know, that whole ordeal…" He drifted off with an air of nonchalance. "You wouldn't mind my company, would you? It's just the two of us in this café and it would be rude for me not to make you company…" She rolled her eyes at his parodying her.

"A rather boring package that was, don't you think? And here I thought it could be something worth writing a novel about…" Harry chuckled and shook his head.

"Boring indeed, but a man's got to work… So you looked inside didn't you?" Hermione shrugged, but even she couldn't help the rise of the corner of her lips into a smile.

"I thought it could be drugs, maybe… Figures that it wasn't, you are quite boring." Harry was about to give her a good comeback when a waitress arrived carrying Hermione's brunch of delectable-looking apple strudel with ice cream, tea and a side of Ischl tartlets, which were really cute biscuits of Christmas motifs with jam sandwiched inside. Bless the woman and her obsession with sweets! Hermione eyed him knowingly as her eyes followed his hungry gaze to her food, she smiled wickedly. "So, I gather you listened to my interview…"

Harry nodded, still staring at the sweets set out between them on the table.

"I'm intrigued actually, by this interest you seem to have for horrible disasters and war."

"It's not the disasters and the war that intrigue me, Harry," she responded, used to receiving this kind of comment. She looked pointedly into his eye and continued: "It's actually people who interest me, especially people who fight through adversity…" Only then she had realized just how green his eyes were, an utterly unique and dare say beautiful shade, Hermione had never seen eyes quite like his, they were striking and even surprising as they hid behind oval-framed spectacles that could very well belong to her granddad.

And that's when from the corner of her eye she spotted his clever hands try to steal one of her Ischl cookies but they weren't fast enough as she slapped his hand away, making him drop the biscuit back on the plate.

"You can order your own!" She exclaimed in outrage, pulling the plate closer to her and popping a biscuit inside her mouth, making him watch as she reveled in its delicious taste, and as the buttery cookie all but melted on her tongue. She couldn't help but moan, it was something she often did when eating, totally beyond her control, but that moan made Harry's eyes widen and his smile falter, only for him to stare at her in what seemed like wonder. Hermione couldn't help but blush as she swallowed, sheepishly trying to hide it behind her steaming cup of tea.

"I think I'll have some of those too…" He motioned for the waitress then, his eyes purposefully avoiding Hermione and Hermione too embarrassed to look at him, concentrating on the small feast before her, rather desperately.

When the waitress finally came by Hermione tapped Harry's hand and immediately he turned to look at her.

"Ask for the Kaiserschmarrn… I'll share my strudel with you if you share some of yours with me." Harry's eyes sparkled at her proposition, borne out of pure gluttony.

"How have your teeth not rotten yet?" He asked her with a hearty laugh. "Or your liver melted…?"

"My parents are dentists, that's why!" She cried out defensively, a humored twinkle in her eyes. "Sweets are better than sex, I'll have you know."

"They're almost as good, you mean."

"I whole-heartedly disagree, they're better…"

"Merlin's beard, I pity you… No boyfriends treated you right?" Hermione scoffed. "No wonder you're so uptight!"

"You men think so highly of yourselves, but most of you can't find a clitoris to save your lives. Therefore, the sweets are better. And I am not uptight!" Harry got so distracted laughing that he missed the waitress's shocked expression from listening in to their little spat. "He'll have the Kaiserschmarrn, please, and tea with just a spot of milk. Thank you!" The waitress scribbled the order on her pad and hurried away before Hermione could bossily add anything else.

"That's exactly what uptight people tend to respond anyway…" He said, his cheeks red from laughing at her. Hermione was happy to please as yesterday he'd looked downright miserable and unpleasant. Today, she actually rather liked him… "I saw you were writing when I got here, ideas for a new book?"

"No, actually, a card for my parents… It is Christmas Eve after all. I only hope it'll arrive in Menorca on time, they moved there after retirement. Do you have family in Vienna, what are your plans for the holidays?" Harry shrugged as he watched her enjoy her strudel, she was a bit messy at it, what with some powdered sugar staining the corners of her lips. He fought the urge to brush his fingers over it to clean her.

"My parents actually died when I was a baby, I was raised by my uncles, but the relationship with them has always been rubbish…" She looked at him curiously as he spoke, watching as his features darkened a bit as Harry mentioned his parents' fate and his upbringing. By the looks of it, it hadn't been a pleasant one. "The last few Christmases I spent with my fiancée's family, but that's all over now so I really don't know…" Hermione nodded in understanding, playing with the seams of her cloth napkin.

"Like I told you, my parents are living in Menorca, Spain. They retired and decided to completely uproot their lives and change. My childhood home in Oxford was sold, their practice too and now they live happily naked on the beach. As I had no inclination to spend Christmas naked with my parents, I politely declined and decided to come here." Harry nearly choked at his laughter once she described being naked with her parents and Hermione too found the humor in it, and suddenly their loud and unabashed laughter rang throughout the bakery, their faces turning red and shoulders shaking uncontrollably, until the laughter died down and they were left breathless, red-faced and looking at one another with sparks of happiness in both sets of eyes. Harry hadn't the heart yet to obliviate her.

"Does that mean we are two lonely fucks this Christmas?" Hermione chuckled dryly at his wording, but ended up nodding.

"I wonder, could we two lonely fucks perhaps spend Christmas together?" He couldn't for the life of him say 'no' to her. He was irrevocably caught in the web of the famous Hermione Granger. And for all intents and purposes, she did still have that blasted artifact in her possession.

…

An hour and a half later, the two stepped out of the then crowded bakery. Hermione with a very full and content stomach and Harry with a lighter wallet because she talked her way into making him pay for everything.

"That was bloody unfair." He sulked as he let her lead the way into the street. She rolled her eyes at him, something he noticed she did quite often.

"It was your fault that I wasn't able to eat my apple pie yesterday so it's only fair that you pay for my breakfast." She defended herself while reading the street signs as they walked along the block.

"You better pay for my lunch," He warned her before he stopped almost tripping over her the minute she came to a sudden halt, taking out a small Vienna guide book from her purse. "Where are we going anyway?"

"I'm figuring it out." She bit her lower lip while scanning through the book. That only made him stare at her lips, and without her noticing he felt his cheeks grow warm. He had to admit he enjoyed being with her and was even thankful for the company really. She was a bit mental at times but she was fun, and pleasant, though he wasn't in a hurry to let her know any of this. He miraculously managed to look away a second before she looked up and nearly caught him. "Do you have any place, in particular, you'd like to see?"

"I was only here for a job. I didn't think I'd be stuck here for another day and spend it with a famous stranger of all people. I'll leave you to it, oh famous Hermione Granger." He teased. She glared at him momentarily, but even then she was entirely adorable.

"You're incorrigible." She rolled her eyes and then closed the guide book for a while. "And you still haven't told me what your occupation is and why you were carrying a huge block of stone..."

He grinned and then unexpectedly leaned closer, whispering against her neck: "If I told you I'd have to kill you." Hermione ignored the slight shiver that went down her spine, as well as the goosebumps that arose from the absolutely tempting warm breath that touched her skin, contrasting with the cold winter breeze. "There was something about that package, Harry, it looked ancient..." And then she faked horror and consternation. "You're here to kill me, aren't you? You're some black market thief slash smuggler!"

"Err, I-of course not." He was a bit taken aback. "Your imagination is ridiculously wild."

"... and whatever happened in that café wasn't on the news. I know and heard something after you forced me out. The café, the package, the whole commotion–those aren't hard to miss. Especially in a crowded place full of last-minute Christmas shoppers...aha! I've figured it out!"

"Figured what out?" He echoed uncomfortably.

"You're a secret agent, aren't you?" She conspiratorially whispered, an excited glint in her eyes. "Of course you are, it makes complete sense, to be honest! That's the only way everything that happened in the café could've been hushed!"

Harry ignored the weird and cool sensation of dread that settled in the pit of his stomach and simply shook his head. "Let's just go."

"Admit that I'm right, Harry, or is it Bond, James Bond?" She urged, the stupid grin on her face and sparkle in her eyes only increasing, which made him pull a Hermione and roll his eyes at her antics.

"Have you bloody hit your head? My name is Harry!" He replied, confused and annoyed. And then she laughed at him.

"Oh, come off it Harry, don't tell me you don't know who James Bond is."

"Er, no."

"Jesus Christ Harry, do you bloody live in a cave? He's only the most famous fictional British Secret Service agent. You quite look like a younger version of him but with green eyes and a less dapper, more scruffy look." She eyed Harry closely, he sure looked good and ready in action with his fur-lined aviator jacket, dark trousers, and boots combo. Better than the coat he wore yesterday. Harry shook his head at her again.

"Let's not waste time. Have you figured out where we're going, yet?"

Hermione decided to let her teasing to rest, her eyes glinting, which made him positive that there would be more of her prying later. "Actually, I have everything planned out."

"Since when?" He asked as they started walking again.

"Since we stepped out of the bakery." She replied.

"Then why did you bloody stall?"

"I reckoned it would be more polite to ask you."

"And if I had suggested something?"

"We'd still follow my plans, of course." He couldn't help but chuckle at just how absurdly bossy she was. Hermione took his arm and pulled him along. "Come on, 007, we can catch the next tram!"

They sat at the backmost seat of the tram, not too close but not too far away from each other either. A middle-aged woman entered carrying a few groceries while reprimanding her two young children to stop fighting, a young couple brazenly eating each other's faces off four seats away, and old man listening to football highlights very loudly from his pocket radio. They stole glances from each other suddenly feeling taciturn and awkward. The tram started moving and for a while they both sat in pleasant silence just looking out of the window towards the streets and buildings they passed.

"I propose that we play a game, a Q&A of sorts," Hermione said, minutes later, turning her gaze to him and breaking their silent bubbles.

"What sort of questions?" There was uncertainty in his tone.

"Any direct questions, something that'll let us get to know each other more since we're spending the day together. And you have to answer honestly. Come on, James, it's going to be fun!" She chuckled at his amused reaction to her new nickname for him, unknowing that James was coincidentally his middle name and also the name of his late father. Maybe one day he'd tell her, just for the rather selfish satisfaction of seeing a surprised and amused expression on her face. Harry reluctantly agreed to her proposition.

"All right, Miss Granger, let's do it..." She beamed at him then composed herself, running a hand through her wild curls. By now he was quite obsessed with the light-brown ringlets that framed her face like a lion's mane. It was different, unique even, and just so utterly wild like her.

"I'll start, then, ladies first." She thought for a moment, biting her bottom lip for a split second. "Have you ever been in love, Harry?" Her cheeks reddened a bit with her question and he found it quite endearing.

"Wow, well…" He breathed out, not knowing quite well from where to start or how on earth to answer to such a thing. He didn't even know for sure, to be honest… but he was a Gryffindor for a reason, so didn't stall for long. "Remember how I mentioned a fiancée?" Hermione nodded and then gestured for him to continue. "Her name's Ginny and we've been together since we were teenagers. She's my best mate's sister and at first she was someone who was off-limits, so naturally, I fancied her a lot. She's beautiful, smart, cool, sporty, and very popular; practically perfect, really. We both were on the Qui–umm, Football team and we both sort of just happened. Everyone supported our relationship, her family to me is my surrogate family, like I told you my relatives are rubbish…" She nodded, remembering. "After school and when we were older, I thought it was just natural that I propose to her. I mean, her mum was bloody planning our wedding ever since we got together and was only ready to unleash those plans. She immediately said yes but the two of us thought to wait around a bit cause we were starting our careers. Then last year, she told me she was ready and I thought, yeah, it's the perfect time. She and her mum started all this planning but we couldn't agree on the date and at the same time I was enjoying my job, all the traveling it entailed, and just the thought of having to quit in order to settle down and start a family… We were twenty-six, I'm twenty-seven now… It started to feel way too soon. And Ginny always hated my job and she kept putting on pressure for me to leave... We argued for a long time and then called it a night. The next day I ended our engagement because I realized something in between our argument." Hermione barely blinked as she paid attention to his story, the journalist that she was.

Harry continued: "I realized that we had grown to be two different people going on two wildly different paths. I couldn't be what she expected me to be, still can't. She's always had this idea of me being some great hero and that our lives are going to be this perfect glamorous, fairytale thing. For me, in the beginning, it all was so ideal and perfect I'd be marrying into this huge family that loved and adopted me when my own flesh in blood didn't, and they are still so dear to me. But then, deep inside I only wanted like an official acceptance into that family, do you understand?" Hermione nodded. "We were only each other's romantic projections, you know? Have I ever been in love? Ten years ago I would've said yes but now, I'm not sure anymore, Ginny and I changed so much through the years... I suppose that's normal considering we were kids when we started, but I felt there should be more to life, you know? Did I answer your question?" Harry had felt like something was loaded off his chest, all of the things he'd been bottling up inside of him for so long, things he hadn't fully said to Ginny as not to hurt her so much. He looked at Hermione closely, anticipating her reaction.

"In a way, you did and I got a good story out of it. If you'd given me a plain yes or no, I'd still try to goad an explanation." She lightly responded then squeezed his right arm, eyeing him sympathetically. "Now it's your turn to ask me a question."

Harry gathered his thoughts and then finally asked, "What is something you are certain you'll never experience?"

Hermione grew silent, biting that lower lip of hers again, and then her eyes drifted to the young couple still stuck in their little world of kissing and passion seated ahead of them on the tram. Without hesitation, she answered: "Finding my soulmate".

Harry's eyes slightly widened in surprise, as it wasn't remotely close to what he'd been expecting, though he couldn't even pinpoint what his guess would be. He waited for an explanation but she only raised an eyebrow and laughed softly. He nudged her with his elbow.

"What?" She asked.

"You're only giving me that after what I've told you? Come on, play fair! Explain, tell me more..." He insisted.

"Fine, fine…" She sighed deeply and continued: "Don't get me wrong, I do believe some people have soulmates but not everyone. I think it's rather complicated... I don't want an image of a certain person in my head as the one. I don't want to wait and let fate decide who I should end up with or be that girl stuck in a tower waiting for her mythical prince to arrive only to grow old, bitter and lonely. Should I keep rejecting every relationship until the one magically appears right in front of me? The whole notion of it is a fantasy, a romantic projection. I think it makes sense not to cling to foolish ideas. I think the reality of love is more impressive, more real! I'm talking about a relationship that you build brick by brick, all the pretty stuff, and all the ugly stuff. It's not something that depends on some cosmic force pushing you together and giving unrealistic expectations that everything is going to be very smooth and easy. I want something realistic, the difficult things that you try to work out together. I'll never meet my soulmate because I don't think he exists in the first place." She answered passionately.

"You know, that's actually the one plausible thing I've heard you say today…" Hermione hit him on the arm and he snickered, with a smile, breaking the tension and the gravity of both their confessions. Were they confessions?

"Anyway, next question, Harry: if you could choose another profession aside from being a secret agent, what would it be?"

"You're never going to stop with that whole secret service agent thing, are you?" He questioned, with a roll of his eyes while mussing up his already untidy hair. He paused for a moment and then smiled at the thought. She liked seeing him like this, stripped of his armor. "I think I'd be a teacher. I used to teach a group of my friends, a-a, subject and they thought I was fairly good. My favorite professors had encouraged me a lot and helped me realize my potential back then. I think I'd like to be able to do the same. There's something rewarding about inspiring the next generation…" He got distracted with the way she was oddly looking at him as if analyzing him like a therapist, it made him feel a bit self-conscious and he couldn't help but squirm a bit under her gaze. "What?"

"Nothing, really, just trying to imagine you as a teacher..."

"And what do you think?" Hermione smiled at his question, a naughty glint in her eyes because she knew exactly what she would think if thrust into a classroom where the tall, dark and mysterious Harry was her professor. She wouldn't dare say a word of it to him. "I think it's your turn to ask and you should use your opportunity wisely…"

"Very clever, you…" She simply shrugged sporting a most infuriating grin. "Why did you choose to become a journalist?"

Hermione smiled and then with a sparkle in her brown eyes responded: "When I was a girl, I snuck up in the middle of the night to watch some telly. Nothing was on except this documentary about the Holocaust narrated by Elizabeth Taylor and Orson Welles. Of course back then I didn't know what it really was about, I think I was ten or eleven years old. Anyway, I could still remember the feeling of waking up to reality as I absorbed everything about the film. It evoked a certain awareness, it evoked emotions from me. I didn't realize that I was crying until the lights suddenly came on and my father had caught me. I think he wanted to scold me for going past my bedtime during a school night but he saw the tears on my face... All I could say or think between my cries were: why? He tried to explain it to me very simply but I knew I wanted to know more. I've always been curious, I've always loved reading and learning about everything there was to learn. I think studying is the one thing I'm truly good at, actually... So the very next day I began my quest to learn more about the Holocaust in the library and then after that there were many, many other History-related obsessions: the Bronze Age, the Middle Ages, and witchhunts, World War I, to list a few, and from there I kept on reading and researching. The more I work, the more I research and the more I'm reminded of that documentary. I can still remember the narrator's voice saying: 'Believe me, it can happen again'..." She imitated the narrator's deep, masculine voice. "I think that film made me realize that I never wanted to forget about the horrors of this world, and it made me see the importance of making History and knowledge more accessible to people. I believe it's important to never forget so we can try to not keep messing up time and again. I've written a few books in my short career, but I think my documentaries are a bit more significant in that regard, not everyone reads, but a lot of people watch and listen. I have so many stories to tell the world, stories that we should never forget. Stories that remind us that the world is shaped by the people who suffered and persevered because they believed in a future we all could live in." Harry deeply admired the idealism and passion in her voice and in her eyes, he remembered feeling that very sensation during the world in his world, even if it was mixed with an overwhelming struggle for survival. "I think it's my job to do this, you know, to be this storyteller."

For a long moment they just sat there looking at each other, allowing their mutual answers to settle in and be processed in their brains.

"We're getting off at the next stop." She spoke silently as they both calmed down.

…

Much to Harry's amusement, Hermione had brought him to a park which was actually a cemetery called St. Marxer Friedhofspark. They had asked a couple of locals and followed the signs before actually reaching the place. It was a bit of a long walk but they both enjoyed the serene atmosphere and being surrounded by leafless wintery trees, Christmas lights hanging on them, waiting to be lit as soon as the sun set on the horizon. Harry had to admit that many of the graves were beautiful works of art, sculptures of angels and flowers, difficult names engraved in the tombstones as they went. It almost felt like they had walked into an old film set, but it wasn't at all gloomy or scary. Harry wanted to ask her where they were headed but didn't want to break the moment they were having. They soon reached the top of a hill where on a clearing to the left stood a broken pillar with a mourning angel beside it. He followed her closely to it, intrigued by her fixation to it. The area looked beautifully maintained despite the season, and many flowers and cards were deposited at its feet in a sign of reverence and admiration. Harry read the words on the pillar:

_W. A. Mozart_

_1756-1791_

"I can't believe I'm here. This place is beautiful." Hermione kneeled in front of the pillar, her fingers tracing the letters.

"So, was he your ancestor or something?" He asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"What–" She turned around, absolutely shocked by his question. "Are you serious?"

"No, I'm Harry." He joked, letting out a dry laugh, but the attempt at humor escaped her entirely. His heart sank as he once again came to the realization that she would never understand the pun. Hermione Granger had never heard of his late godfather Sirius, nor had she any idea of the existence of magic and of the wizarding world Sirius had belonged to, that Harry also belonged to. He hated to think that he'd have to obliviate her later, erase himself and this beautiful day from her memories. It almost physically hurt...

"You don't know who Mozart is?" She inquired. Harry sighed deeply, a part of him cursing the Dursley's lack of cultural refinement and attention to him in general, that rendered him a complete idiot when it came to knowledge of the muggle world.

"Am I supposed to?"

"He's one of the most famous classical composers in the world! Don Giovanni, The Magical Flute, The Marriage of Figaro, among his famous operas… Have you ever heard of those?" She asked incredulously.

"I'm sorry, I haven't." He replied, concerned that he had somewhat upset her now. She frowned slightly, but her eyes were sympathetic. "I'm afraid my education didn't focus at all in the arts or music, so in those departments, I'm rather lacking… And my relatives weren't much for music either…"

"No, it's fine but you should listen to his works sometime." She insisted, sitting cross-legged on the ground. "One of my best childhood memories was going to Covent Garden with mum and dad to watch 'The Magic Flute', it was absolutely magical! The sounds, the colors, the characters…"

"So, why his grave? Why come here out of all the places you could have visited in Vienna?" He followed suit.

"It's not entirely sure if this was his grave. Mozart was always one of my favorites. I promised myself that I would go try to visit places that honored him. Of course, I could've brought you to his house which they turned into a museum but I think it's going to be packed with tourists and I've read about this place. It just feels more appropriate and we can both relax before all the festivities." She said, leaning her head on his shoulder, the events of the day beginning to take their toll. A glance at her wristwatch informed her that it was nearly four pm, and the sun was already setting around them, filling the sky with shades of pink, orange, and lavender.

"Festivities?" He asked, liking the feel of her so close to him.

"It's Christmas Eve, Harry. We have to go to the Christmas market later!" She exclaimed with excitement in her voice. "Eat and drink the traditional Viennese Christmas food, make the most of it while we can..." She replied.

"You're thinking about food already? With that brunch we just had?" He peered at her, shaking his head.

"Well, all the talking and walking made me hungry again." She answered, linking her arm with his and snuggling even further into his shoulder like a lazy cat.

"It's a good thing you're paying then."

…

The next stop on Hermione Granger's Vienna itinerary was the Natural History Museum where the end of their afternoon was spent. Afterward, they finally entered the much anticipated and nearby Christmas market on Maria-Theresien-Platz, a large public square with a huge monument of Empress Maria Theresa towering over four sets of statues. It was already six in the evening and the sky was pitch dark, though the lights and decorations of the Christmas market stalls kept the place alight. The place was already crowded with people who had decided to somehow enjoy Christmas Eve outside rather than in formal dinners indoors. Families went along with happy children munching on candy apples and cookies, lines of people waiting to board the large carousel and Ferris wheel that had been set up for the duration of the Christmas holidays, everyone in high spirits.

"This looks and smells absolutely delicious." She gushed as she balanced two plates of grilled Käsekrainer sausages and white bread rolls. Harry snickered, he was carrying paper cornets of roasted chestnuts and almonds and a large homemade pretzel for each of them. The two luckily found a free table next to a Christmas punch stall, alcoholic Christmas punch and Harry couldn't help but laugh as Hermione's eyes brightened even more.

"I'll go get us the punch, please try to refrain from devouring everything while I'm gone." He placed the food on the table and winked at her before approaching the stall. He was back nearly five minutes later as the line wasn't as short as he'd hoped. She was halfway through her pretzel but he didn't blame her, his stomach was rumbling from actual hunger.

They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the food and taking in all of the Christmas cheer, lights and caroling around them, before it was Harry's turn to look at her and actually start talking.

"You know, yesterday I had been certain Christmas would be terrible this year because I'd be spending it alone, but against all odds, I met you, and it's been wonderful really… I suppose I just wanted you to know…" He was blushing profusely, avoiding her eyes at all costs. Expressing himself and his feelings had never been easy, he and Ginny had argued about this many times over the years, but despite everything, Harry felt comfortable with Hermione, vastly different as they were from one another. When he finally raised his eyes to meet her she was downing his cup of punch, after having downed her own and was smiling at him so beautifully and so obviously tipsy that he nearly laughed.

"Harry, what's that blasted stone all about?" She asked him, deliberately brushing off his sentimental words as to not make him feel nervous. He was glad she understood, but at the same time cursed her curiosity. "I've been dying to know since yesterday!"

"If I told you, you'd think me crazy…" Hermione scoffed and urged him to go on as she munched on her roasted almonds. "It's a magical artifact from the Isle of Avalon. Apparently the inscriptions on it are a part of three tablets that keep the druid people safe and hidden from the rest of humankind. Their magic is much more rudimentary, but at the same time is so intricately linked with nature that it's extremely strong. The inscriptions on the stone are part of some sort of enchantment that is said to be powerful enough to resurrect the dead even… It had been stolen for the wrong purposes and the poor, lonely sod that I am, I was given the mission to retrieve it from a mafia of Austrian artifact smugglers." By the end of his tale, Hermione was laughing so hard that Harry began to laugh as well, though the little voice in his head kept repeating: If only you knew...

"You're more creative than I pegged you for, James Bond." She finally said, finishing off the last of her food. "How about a bit more, punch?" She suggested with a wink and Harry shook his head at her.

"To be honest, I could actually use some more too, but are you sure you can handle it?" Hermione rolled her eyes at him and refrained from cursing. He got up sporting a smug grin and went on his way, Hermione staying behind guarding their table.

Harry was getting in line at the Christmas punch stand when he caught sight of the most beautiful and delicate ornaments displayed on the one next to it. He had little use for Christmas decorations as he never set up a tree to begin with, but upon laying his eyes on a crystal hand-painted ornament with depictions of Viennese buildings similar to the ones they passed by all day, Harry just knew he wanted to gift Hermione with it. He stepped out of the line and chose the prettiest he could find, with Christmas 2008 written in perfect cursive letters at the foot of it. He had the ornament wrapped in bubble wrap and newspaper before it was put inside a box and neatly covered with a Santa Claus-themed gift paper. Harry discreetly pulled out his wand to cast a charm over it, so that the delicate crystal would never, ever break. He wanted her to have even if a small piece of today forever, to compensate for the memories he'd be forced to take away and keep just for himself for as long as they both lived.

More than ten minutes had passed when he returned to Hermione with more punch, the ornament safely tucked inside his jacket, three times smaller than its actual size so that she wouldn't notice.

"Oh, good! I was beginning to think you had abandoned me here…" She said, once he took his seat across from her and handed Hermione her drink.

"Don't be silly, I would never leave without saying goodbye…" She nodded at this, but she couldn't help the pang of sadness in the pit of her stomach reminding her that the day was nearly over and she would probably never see her James Bond ever again. Unbeknownst to Hermione, he felt the absolute same.

…

It was just before midnight when they stumbled into the darkness of Hermione's hotel room. She'd gone a bit overboard on the punch as the night progressed, and they were both exhausted from their busy day. Once inside she immediately kicked off the boots that had begun to hurt her feet from all the walking they'd done and hopped onto her bed, patting the spot next to her for him to sit.

"I'm not having sex with you if that's what you're thinking…" He told her, on a more serious note, watching as she began to unbutton her blouse in front of him.

"I wish this day wouldn't end…" she admitted, with a sadness in her voice. "I like you, Harry…" she dragged on, wordlessly inquiring about his last name.

"It's Potter. Harry Potter…" She smiled hugely at the way he said it, like any decent secret agent would. He looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"I never thought I'd one day be a Bond girl…" She trailed off, nodding at nothing in particular midst her drunk and sleepy haze. "Your artifact is over there…" she pointed towards the coffee table in the sitting area of her suite. "I guess I'll die of not knowing…"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at her dramatics.

"You're absolutely lovely, Hermione Granger…" He told her, as he all but tucked her in, fluffing her pillows and pulling the soft covers over her. He walked over to the granite stone and for once didn't curse its existence as it had been what brought them together in the first place. He slipped it inside his jacket, pulling out his gift for her in its wake.

It was finally midnight as he glanced at the vintage gold clock on her mantelpiece. He sighed deeply, dreading what would come next before slowly making his way back to the side of her bed. She was fast asleep already, slightly snoring even and the fact that she couldn't be completely quiet even in her sleep was terribly endearing to him. Hermione Granger was one of a kind, she was kind, and it made her all the more beautiful and memorable to him. He set the ornament down on her nightstand and tucked a stray brown curl behind her ear.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione…" he whispered, pulling out his wand and pointing it to her forehead, she didn't even stir. Harry stood there for what felt like a small eternity, but simply couldn't do it, a simple spell he'd done many times before. There was a big part of him that thought her special, thought that this Christmas Eve they shared was special and was selfish enough to want her to remember it-him-too.

Harry sighed once more and slipped his wand up his jacket sleeve again. He took three careful steps back, out of her possible line of vision and activated the portkey buried deep inside his jeans pocket. His heart felt light and heavy all at once.


	2. Paris part 1

_**Paris, France** _

December 2009

* * *

Ever since she'd met Harry Potter, Hermione Granger couldn't help but think about him when it rained heavily, the wind blowing violently and cold outside. It took her mind back to Vienna, to how excited and full of energy she felt in the presence of that man, but at the same time how comfortable and at ease she was with him, as though they had known one another for a very long time. Hermione hadn't the slightest idea where Harry was or even if he was truly a Secret Agent, but she liked to think he was, it made the idea of him far more thrilling and the sadness of not seeing or speaking to him more bearable, more comprehensible even. He was James Bond, _007_ , and she was a Bond girl and this was how Bond girls ended up when not violently sent to the grave by enemy hands.

Today was one of those rare days off, the sort that preceded busier and stressful days and so was necessary to replenish all energy. She'd need to be rather ruthless tomorrow if she wanted the BBC to approve and fund her new idea for a documentary series. Leprosy and all that it entailed weren't the sort of exciting or thrilling things people wished to watch or learn about on screen, but still she had high hopes. What she wished to convey was much more than the disease of leprosy itself, but actually, the story of humans at their best while at their worsts emotional and health-wise, and of course it did have the allure of Nazi occupation and World War II history which was all the rage in all possible marketing aspects. It got tiresome at times, but truly intelligent people had to know how to play their cards and Hermione considered herself quite intelligent. The kettle whistled, startling her, from the background of her tiny and admittedly cluttered house. She hadn't any use for a larger place and it had become even more full of 'useless rubbish' and memorabilia after her parents sold their home in Oxford two years ago, and there'd been many things she hadn't wanted to do without. Hermione considered them her precious little artifacts, the things that told the story of who she was and she hoped they would stick with her all through her life and beyond.

Hermione traveled a lot, stayed away from her little house in Wandsworth for a great amount of time every year due to her work, something she loved, but nevertheless, it gave her great comfort to have this place, even if at age 29 she'd quite outgrown it. Sure, it had a decent-sized living area with a small fireplace and French doors that led to a small rear yard that boasted a pear tree and irises that flowered during late-spring. Most of the living area was her bookshelves though, all painted a light shade of cornflower-blue and crammed with books, picture frames and trinkets collected throughout her life and travels. A few cardboard boxes were stacked in a corner collecting dust and they had been there for almost three years now. She had little use for a telly, so she didn't own one. A narrow Victorian archway led to a small kitchen with a round wooden table with three seats that hardly got used. Rickety wooden stairs covered by faded striped carpeting led to the upper floor which consisted of two small bedrooms and a bathroom. Her bedroom looked out to a long street of matching row houses, all decorated for the holidays already. The other had a view of the garden, which quite honestly wasn't much. She normally used it for work, hence the large wooden desk and shelf that took over most of the space. It was sentimental furniture, though disproportionate because it had been her grandfather's and he, in turn, had been a great author and playwright. Hermione hoped all his success and talent would somehow rub onto her, though she had no reason to complain, what with so many sales and excellent reviews, plus, the BBC seemed to continue liking her enough for producing more programs…

She had to admit it was a lonesome way of living though, not even a cat she had anymore, not since her darling Crookshanks passed away nearly a decade ago... It was the sort of company Hermione's lifestyle didn't permit. She couldn't exactly drag a cat or a dog to the windy hills of Scotland, or to hot, arid Moroccan deserts or even to secluded Greek plains or mountaintops where one could spend days on end without seeing a single other person, and on airplanes which just weren't the proper kind of place for animals too...

The kettle continued to whistle and she groaned, forcing herself to finally get up from her favorite armchair by the window to go prepare some tea. Other than making her think of Secret Agents and her short stint as a Bond girl, this sort of weather made her feel awfully lazy, but she still had a suitcase to pack for her trip to Paris this weekend and a lengthy phone call with her parents scheduled for 8 pm.

She was in the middle of a steaming mug of peppermint tea when her phone rang and 'Mummy' appeared on the screen. She pressed the green button and then put the phone to her ear.

"Hermione, you little minx! Lejla completely and utterly broke my heart! How could she do _that_?" Her mother cried out, clearly not bothering with niceties. Hermione rolled her eyes, glad because this meant her mum was actually reading the book she wrote set during the Bosnian war in the 1990s.

"How much do you hate me on a scale of zero to ten?" Cleopatra Granger took a second or two to think before responding.

"I'd say a big fat 8 at this point. What do you have against love actually working out?" Hermione chuckled as she rinsed her mug in the sink and set it to dry.

"Nothing, it just wouldn't be realistic to the story. It's war, it's famine, it's rape… these things happen."

"Please tell me this will have a happy ending, though… I wouldn't bear it if Zana never found her brother again, or if Lara was forced to stay in that rape prison the rest of her life..."

"Hmm, I think you'll like chapter ten, mum." Hermione could almost imagine her mother dead-panning for a second, her clever blue eyes going wide like a child making a life-altering discovery.

"It had better, Hermione Jean, or you'd never hear the end of your mother's pharaonic ranting!" She heard her father exclaim in the background. "By the way, darling, I'm at chapter three myself, and I think you did a fantastic job describing the beautiful maze that is Sarajevo… As you know, mum and I were there doing volunteer work that summer you spent with Granny in France."

"Yes, I remember quite well, dad. How are things at your end?"

"Oh, splendid! We just booked our tickets and hotel for Christmas and New Year's in Thailand with our friends! You remember the Tanners and the Dominguez's, right?" Hermione's heart sank at his words and the utter excitement in them as well. She could hear her mother scolding him in the background for letting the truth slip out.

"You're going to _bloody_ Thailand? So the tickets I bought from London to Madrid and from Madrid to Menorca should go into the rubbish bin, then?"

" _Darling…_ " Her father tried to interject, to no avail.

"Am I so terrible a daughter that you don't even want my company for the holidays? Couldn't you wait a few days after to go on your little trip to Thailand? I planned my entire schedule around visiting you both in Spain for Christmas, I've bought your gifts and written your cards already… I even got a new dress! Well, I appreciate the notice, mum and dad, you're both _positively_ _splendid_ " Hermione hung up before she could listen to any of their lame excuses, her heart racing and the familiar breathless feel of tears threatening to fall overcoming her.

Not even her mum and dad wanted her. How utterly fucked up her life had turned out… Hermione turned around, her eyes falling on a picture of her parents on their wedding day that hung on the wall. She pulled it from its nail and threw it halfway across the living room, where it crashed against the wooden floor, the glass shattering into hundreds of pieces. With angry tears pouring out of her eyes Hermione pulled her bright red coat from its hook by the door and opened it, marching in the direction of the local pub, the strong rain drenching her from head to toe, washing away any evidence of her tears.

As she sat on the shabby high stool of the local Irish pub, Hermione decided that the worst part of this whole ordeal was that she'd be forced to accept her cousin Fabian's invitation to spend Christmas with him in Paris. Any person would be happy with such a 'saving grace', but to Hermione, it meant the company of not only her cousin but also of a terrifying boa constrictor and being forced to eat _fucking_ Vegan French food. Hermione loved her parents, really did, but right now she loathed the very thought of their big, frigid, selfish English arses. So, she downed what consisted of half a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey.

…

The following afternoon Hermione found herself seated on the Eurostar train headed for Paris. Only time could tell if the BBC would approve of her idea for the documentary series, and God how she hoped they did. In a day and age where leprosy was seen as a disease of the past, seldom heard of anymore, few people had the interest to know its true impact on people of the past. It wasn't something that attracted interest or attention like the Black Plague, nor was it a common trope in romantic literature, such as tuberculosis, to separate two lovers for all eternity… Even though leprosy did, in the cruelest and humiliating ways.

When Hermione first came across the novel " _The Island"_ by Victoria Hislop, she didn't imagine falling so deeply into the rabbit hole of human survival in the midst of disease. Her former projects had all spoken of war and the people who against all odds made a difference or pulled through those difficulties. Though the history of the Greek people who were exiled due to being victims of leprosy wasn't _not_ a war story, it was much, much more than that and Hermione had a deep desire to share it all with the world.

She leaned against the glass pane of the fast train that would soon cross the English channel on the way to France, letting the cold surface relieve a bit of her migraine. She felt as though she'd made a fool of herself today at the BBC, dizzy, drunk, giggling like a madwoman when the subject was so important and serious to her heart. When she depended on their approval, funding, and good will to produce this large series that was her dream. She felt stupid, silly, she felt like an inconsequential teenage girl who hadn't been able to control her emotions and chose instead to drown in drink. This wasn't her at all, never had been. Hermione had never given herself time for this type of foolishness, not even at the height of her adolescence. She'd always been the serious, studious type, the girl that never got into trouble, never really went outside of her comfort zone. The good and obedient daughter, the straight-A student… She couldn't forgive herself for falling into those trappings at this day and age of her life. She was twenty-nine years old, not some irresponsible little girl. She'd gone against her very nature in the precise moment when she couldn't have…And goodness how she regretted it. Only time would tell indeed if she hadn't completely ruined everything.

Hermione's thoughts wandered to her cousin Fabian, her closest friend and the closest thing she had to a brother. They'd always stuck together despite their many differences and famous arguments. Fabian was just about everything Hermione was not. He was confident, fashionable, too charming for his own good _and_ he'd inherited all of the good looks from their family gene pool. He had the perfect luscious and silky dark hair, mysterious blue-gray eyes the exact replicas of those of their movie-star grandmother, God rest her soul, and his smile was absolutely perfect and came so easily. Fabian was adventurous and carefree in a way that Hermione hadn't learned to be, never allowed herself to be, even if her lifestyle of constant traveling gave the impression of just those qualities. But no, Hermione was a planner and a worrier by nature… She didn't dive into projects or arrive in places without a plan, or better yet, without several different plans.

Fabian wouldn't bat an eye at her state this morning at the BBC, he'd say she was overreacting, for starters, and ' _what was life without its trappings and adventures?'_ , but Hermione wasn't like that, no matter how much she wished she was.

Despite this very truth about her nature, Hermione had to admit that there had been one day in her life, perhaps one of the happiest, where she'd allowed herself some respite and to worry not about times, schedules or the opinions of others, but rather a day in which the hours passed and she wished they never ended. A day where each step, each word, each second had been of surprise and of freedom, a day in a cold and snowy Vienna that many times felt more like the fabrications of her dreams. And she knew that all of that freedom and surprise were because of _him_ , Harry, and because for once in her life she allowed herself to rest, to share with someone else, to lower her barriers… Just one magnificent, extraordinary, unforgettable day.

It was just after four when she arrived at the Gare du Nord in Paris, with an oversized backpack strapped on, on the verge of bringing her down under its weight. Hermione spotted her cousin Fabian immediately, and how could she not as he wore a fashionable burgundy-colored coat and waved towards her with perfectly coiffed brown locks and white teeth.

"Bunny! I missed you!" He cried out wrapping her in a tight hug which was typical of their family. Though Hermione had famously grown out of, or rather, managed to fix her large front teeth courtesy of mum and dad, the horrendous nickname had persisted through the years and it was all Fabian ever called her by. Despite their lifelong bickering, Hermione was genuinely fond of the idiot, disgusting vegan food, exotic animal kink and all.

"Trip went well, I hope?" Fabian asked, more out of politeness than desire for meaningless small talk as he in all his elegant glory dragged her out of the crowded and maddening station onto the streets of the city of lights.

"Quite, yes." Hermione didn't know what else to say. She still had a leftover headache from last night's little _incident_ and she didn't feel at all like herself. This was certainly not the state of mind she'd wanted to be in when revisiting Paris, which was such a wonderful and nostalgic place in her heart.

She crossed the avenue, right behind her cousin, mentally cursing herself for going overboard and choosing to haul such an inconvenient piece of luggage. When they passed the familiar Métro sign she couldn't help but pay more attention to their surroundings, normally they'd go down the stairs to get on the tube to the 5th where Fabian had lived for the past three years.

"Where are we going exactly?" Fabian smiled and waved his hand with a flourish.

"My new flat, of course! I thought my mum told your mum and she told you…" Hermione shook her head.

"Mother dearest hasn't told me much lately, to be honest. And how do we get to your new flat?" Fabian laughed and motioned towards the row of electric bicycles lined up against the sidewalk. Hermione immediately sulked, her lips setting into a frown. She glared at him. "You're _fucking_ kidding me! I'm calling a taxi…"

"Come on, I only live ten minutes away, your chubby legs won't fall off!"

"Fabian, my legs _are not_ chubby. Fuck you, you blasted perfectly-coiffed git!" Fabian smiled brightly as if to rub it into her wounded pride and unlocked his _vélo_. "Couldn't you be a normal person and call a cab for your only cousin who has come all the way from England?"

"Oh, you mean a two-hour long odyssey?" He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I am not paying twenty euros to get you to my flat that is ten minutes away… Besides, I think you'd rather like the name of my new dwellings…"

"It's not Hermione street is it?"

"Oh, _heavens_ no! That dreadful curse of a name…" She punched his arm as per tradition and he snickered, unlocking her own bike. "You know what, just to prove how much of an amazing cousin I am, I'm going to carry your hideous bag for you. Let's just hope no one sees me, all right? Don't want to taint my spotless reputation for good taste!"

They cycled through the tan buildings of Paris with their wrought iron balconies, passing the quaint little cafés with their outdoor seatings, people coming and going in their winter coats, scarves and hats. They passed the ancient Hôpital-Saint-Louis with its splendid walled gardens and Hermione now had a good idea where they were headed. Just as Fabian promised, ten minutes later they were halting in front of a Portuguese pastry shop that seemed to have come straight out of Hermione's dreams. The façade was painted a bright green and little Christmas lights of gold color shone in the exterior. She smiled hugely at the smell of sweet custard and cinnamon, thoughts of past trips to Lisbon momentarily coming to the forefront of her mind. The sign read ' _Pastelaria Don'Antónia'_ and she knew it had potential for being her safe haven this holiday.

When Fabian turned to look at his cousin, dropping her backpack on the ground by the gray door that led up to his apartment building he saw a smile of contentment on his cousin's face, her chest heaving from the exertion of bike riding and her cheeks rosy from the cold winter air.

"What's the street name?" She asked him finally, having missed the street sign at the corner from where they'd passed.

" _Rue de la Grange aux Belles…_ " He pronounced it in perfect and clear French, emphasizing each syllable for Hermione's benefit.

"Hmm, those sound oddly like our family names…" A smile played at the corner of her lips. "I didn't take you for the sentimental gestures type, cousin." He shrugged and couldn't help but chuckle as he searched his pockets for his set of keys.

"I was in between two flats and couldn't decide, so I let the name decide for me. Nothing happens without a reason, Hermione… I learned that the hard way. We need to learn how to read the universe's message to us and believe it!"

"Hmm, did the universe tell you it was wise to get yourself a four foot boa constrictor snake and have her share a bed with you? Careful Fabian, the universe could be wanting to get you killed!" he _tsked_ her snarky response and laughed.

" _Oh_ , dear and beloved Hermione, one day you'll wake up and not know what hit you…" With that, he finally unlocked the door and led her to the two flights of narrow stairs against dirty and stained walls up to his apartment.

…

Just three days later, not too far from the quaint charm of Paris' 10th arrondissement, Harry Potter sat with a plate of fresh hot _pain au chocolat_ and a cup of steaming latte, on the outdoor black and white table of a new trendy café along _Boulevard Saint Germain_. His striking green eyes were watchful and sharp, examining his surroundings anxiously, observing the locals going about their day. He was especially vigilant for any signs of someone seeking to attack him in the broad daylight. The nervous looking young man wearing a tweed suit who was just about to cross the street didn't appear to be an expert killer, nor did the old lady walking her Chow Chow seem to be in a hurry to blast him with a curse either. Harry knew he had every reason to worry, but he was certain for all the experience he had with British Intelligence that no threats imposed upon him here and now.

Despite this, he couldn't help the bit of paranoia slowly invading his thoughts. Just 48 hours ago he and his long-time associate Peder Kvistad were in Constantine, Algeria tracking down a defector from a wizarding crime syndicate known to have stolen numerous dark artifacts used against muggles. The network of informants that had shared them the intelligence were triple-checked and had been confirmed accurate. They had even received a fire message establishing the rendezvous at the gorge under the Sidi M'Cid bridge. But something had gone wrong, the defector had ended up floating on the Rhummel river, dead before they could reach him. Both Harry and Peder were then overwhelmingly attacked at the meeting point and had barely escaped. The two of them left Constantine separately and agreed to reconvene in Paris before leaving for the French Guiana where all investigations were leading them to. All of that had transpired three days ago, and tonight would have been the date of their departure to Cayenne. Harry hadn't gotten any word from Peder until yesterday when the fellow agent left him a message at his hotel informing him of a new lead and saying he'd meet Harry the next day around half-past ten in the morning at the café. Well, an hour passed and Peder was late. Harry couldn't help but mentally curse the Scandinavian for delaying things.

He was finishing his breakfast when the bald, lanky café server approached him.

"Monsieur, a man told me to give you _zis_ ," The server spoke in heavily accented English, handing him a small rolled note. Harry was a bit reluctant but he took the note anyway. "He also said to tell you zese exactly: _la albatross did fullow, and évairy dai, fair food and plai, came to le marinair's 'ullo!'"_ The server spoke with a confused look on his face. Peder had always used poetry as codes in sending messages via messenger to confirm that it was actually from him and not from someone pretending to be him. It was somehow also his way to educate Harry with Romantic era poetry, a great hobby of his. He had known in advance that the code was to be from Samuel Taylor Coleridge's _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_.

" _Merci_ ," He thanked the server who then left with a nod. He quickly unrolled the note, which at first was empty until it slowly revealed the words as soon as it recognized Harry's magical signature.

_I shot the ALBATROSS._

_Jungle fever is delayed until tomorrow. Use the_ _other_ way _to get there. Rubbish could be monitored. Will contact you there._

_P. K._

To any outsider, the note wouldn't make the least bit of sense, but to Harry it was perfectly clear: their trip to French Guiana was delayed and Harry would have to make the trip by Muggle means because portkeys might be monitored. He quickly vanished the note, realising now that he had yet another day in Paris, to do what exactly, only Merlin would know. Harry was never the tourist type and frankly he was sick of the food. He even had to convince the Head of the Auror Office, Timothy Lazenby, to give him this assignment instead of vacation leave. Christmas was coming up and even though Ron and most of the Weasley men had warmed up to him again, Mrs. Weasley still hadn't. Even after a year since the break up and despite Ginny dating the famous Falmouth Falcons beater Carwyn Pugh for several months now, the Weasley matriarch was still very disappointed in him. Harry didn't expect himself to be invited to any of her famed dinners anymore and being alone on Christmas was just plain lonely. It was better to be occupied with a mission rather than mope about with a bottle of Ogden's finest.

As he sat there, waiting for an idea to strike him, his thoughts wandered to the previous Christmas in Vienna, when he'd met the _famous_ Hermione Granger. He couldn't help but smile wistfully as he recalled her utterly wild head of curls, the passion with which she spoke and the bit of arrogance and self-entitlement that turned out to be quite endearing. They had been two very lost and solitary souls, but somehow, despite all their differences, they had clicked. In the 350-something days that followed, Harry didn't recall smiling or laughing half as much as he did when with her and he even found that he missed her endless ramblings and her appetite for food, that seemed to reflect her very appetite for life and living itself.

A gust of wind suddenly made Harry shiver from the cold, it was December afterall. He took another sip of the latte he had charmed to remain hot. Seeing that the old man on his left was done with his newspaper, Harry asked in the little French he knew if he could borrow it. Fortunately, the man was an Australian expat who knew as little French as he did and gladly lent him his copy of a local English-language paper. Harry began to scan the pages, mostly seeking to kill time, not paying too much attention to muggle news. He was about to return it back to the Aussie when a small headline in the entertainment folder caught his attention and he double-checked just to make sure he wasn't crazy.

_**Local Events, Friday, December 23rd 2009 - Author Hermione Granger launches her new book in Paris** _

_**Join us today at the Shakespeare and Co. Reading Room with world-renowned and award-winning English journalist Hermione Granger celebrating the release of her new novel, 'Milk and Honey: a tale of love and courage amidst the Bosnian war'. The reading and Q &A begins at 5pm and the Q&A at 6:30 pm. Book purchase necessary. Limited slots only. First come, first serve. The bookshop is located at 37 rue de la Bûcherie, in the 5th Arrondissement.** _

_Hermione Granger_. Harry couldn't _believe_ it as he put down the paper. He felt his heart palpitate not because of the caffeine he'd ingested but from a wonderful, inexplicable feeling. Suddenly, even more memories of that last Christmas came to him again like a montage being projected from a film reel. Harry was transported to that Christmas Eve, _the best_ that he ever had. The quaint cafés, their tram ride, 'visiting' _Mozart,_ apple strudels, Christmas punch, and of course, the highlight: the hazel-eyed brunette who should've been one of those people he'd cease to think of but instead had been plaguing his dreams for a year. It wasn't until this very moment that Harry realized just how much he longed to experience those moments all over again, to feel what he'd felt when Hermione was with him. Somehow, she had become synonymous to that Christmas feeling he never experienced as a kid. Granted, they had very little time but it had obviously been special. Harry had been certain he would never see _her_ again, but now it seemed like he was given another chance.

He looked at the time on his watch and then asked for his bill. There was still time to go back to his hotel, freshen up, and make himself look more presentable before heading towards Shakespeare & Co. A huge, almost indecent smile was now etched on his face as he left the café, all of a sudden looking forward to the rest of his day.

...

It never occurred to Harry that Hermione Granger could actually be as famous as she'd claimed to be back in Vienna, at least not until he arrived at a very crowded Shakespeare & Co at precisely 5:30 pm. He intended to arrive much earlier, but upon leaving his hotel, he'd realised he ran out of muggle money and so he had to rush into Wizarding Paris to have his Galleons changed to Euros. After that he'd gotten lost and it took him a while before finding the correct subway line that would stop near _37 rue de la Bûcherie_. He wasn't the best of navigators without magic, and his lack of fluency in French only made matters worse.

Now, he stood in front of the iconic yellow and green shopfront with a photo of an ancient looking man in between the words 'Shakespeare and Co', a long queue of avid readers extending beyond the front. It seemed Hermione's books appealed to almost all ages, as he observed the amount of young adults, middle-aged and elderly people standing in line. The display at the front had a small poster of Hermione's book and the details of the event. After a good twenty minutes or more he was finally able to enter the shop, greeted by abstract mosaic tiles on the floor and a warren of narrow passageways lined by numerous shelves filled with colourful spines of books. It felt ironically just as cramped as it felt huge. Harry wasn't at all a bookworm, but he had already felt positively overwhelmed, curious to run his fingers along the spines and take in the titles, covers and words printed inside the tomes… Because he was clueless as where to begin, he approached the cashier area which was being manned by a tall red-headed woman.

" _Uh, bonsoir!"_ He greeted. "...er... _parlez-vous anglais?_ " He knew his French wasn't good but he tried. Good thing the cashier understood his butchering of their beautiful language and was kind enough to even smile.

"Yes, I do, sir. How may I help you?" The red-headed answered in perfectly pronounced English.

"I was hoping to attend Hermione Granger's event? I'm aware that it started a while ago..." He casually pointed at the poster on the front display.

"Ah yes, she just wrapped up the reading and Q&A and will be starting the book signing. Let me check first, _Monsieur_ , we should still have some copies in English." She said, leaving her station to find one. It only took her a couple of minutes to get a copy and then hand it out to Harry. "That will be 16€, _Monsieur."_

Harry counted his muggle money before handing it out to the cashier. "The signing is held at the Reading Room, just go through there." She gestured towards the back.

"Ah, splendid, thank you! _"_ He replied, getting his change and following her instructions. He felt overwhelmingly excited suddenly, as it dawned on him that they were once again in such close proximity, that just around the corner he would come face to face with her again. As there were still at least twenty people queued in front of him he decided to try and busy himself by reading the synopsis at the back of the book, becoming amused with the fact that Hermione had written a romance book. Harry didn't know what to make of it to be honest, he'd expected some non-fiction book about a certain untold historical event, something uncomfortably dense and academic, but it seemed like she had written something much more enticing, if also depressing. He opened the first few pages, out of curiosity, of course. It was the usual title pages, which he skipped, until the dedication page just before the start of chapter one caught his eye. A smile dawned at his face upon reading her words and realizing they were meant for him, Harry, of all people.

_To James, my favorite Secret Agent and the apple strudels of Vienna._

Minutes later, a man who seemed to be an employee directed him to the last part of the line. Harry craned his neck, trying to take a peek of Hermione but the room was small and she was entirely crowded by chattering fans. He decided to just relax his almost stiff neck muscles and to keep on waiting until it was his turn. The wait was excruciating, though, so he decided to dive into the book.

Half an hour later, there were only two people in front of him. While he had been lining up, he took the liberty of skimming through a few pages, the contents of which made even a more liberal and sexually experienced bloke like him turn red. He chuckled to himself, hoping he'd be able to tease her mercilessly once his turn came.

"Next, please!" Someone announced and Harry realized he was the one being called. The suspense of it all made him squirm. It had felt like the time when he was called to take his N. E. W. T. s. He approached the small table where a bearded, gray-haired man was assisting Hermione. The man took Harry's book and passed it to her. Harry didn't see her face yet as her head was bowed down, focusing on the page that was opened for her. She then angled her face a bit and it let him study her profile. She still hadn't looked up at him. Her brown hair looked longer and less bushy than the last time he'd seen her. Her lovely hazel eyes still looked the same but there was something in them... He could see a spark of upset and disappointment. Something was wrong and it seemed like only he had noticed. Perhaps he could ask later when they weren't surrounded by people, if she even had the time, that was.

" _Bonsoir, ça va?_ Would you like a dedication?" Hermione finally spoke, breaking his observation. Her voice was too polite, it didn't sound natural to his ears, or rather, like the Hermione he remembered from Vienna. She was playing along with the black felt tip pen she was holding with her right hand, tapping it on the page. Harry grew silent for a bit, suddenly feeling silly and starstruck. He had indeed practiced what he was going to say but it all immediately evaporated from his mind. Suddenly, remembering her dedication, he cleared his throat and said, "If you could please write _'To 007, I owe you some pastries. From Hermione… Moneypenny._ "

"Excuse me, what–" She'd finally looked up and upon realizing it was him, gasped loudly. The man beside her was asked if something was wrong and if she needed a break but she blatantly ignored him, as she stared at Harry shaking her head. And there was that shine again, in her eyes, little specks of gold swimming in brown. Her eyes scanned him from head to toe as she rose from her chair, a part of her not believing it was him. Harry just grinned at her, crinkling the corners of his emerald eyes from behind his glasses.

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	3. Paris part 2

"It's you, it's actually you!" A smile appeared on her face but not quite reaching her ears. She surprised him to the core by somehow managing to wrap him in a tight bear hug, despite the table between them.

"Hello Hermione," He warmly said, feeling a bit flustered as he reciprocated the hug. "We meet again."

"I–how?" She was speechless.

"Miss Granger, your event will end in a quarter of an hour and the line isn't at its end yet." The man beside her reminded before Harry could explain. She only nodded at the man and instantly started writing on Harry's book.

"Please read. Sorry. Later?" She whispered in post-haste to him as she handed the book. Harry left the line before he could react and respond, as he was impatiently prompted by the man. He walked to the area next to the stairs that led to the second floor and opened to the title page as he settled himself.

_To 007, with love._

_Please wait for me after the event. By the blue chair in the History section._

_Hermione Moneypenny_

…

Harry wandered about the bookshop scanning the shelves for interesting titles, just to kill time as he waited. From where he was, checking out the travel books he had a clear view of the blue chair and history section she mentioned. It annoyed Harry that his skin still tingled from Hermione's hug just minutes before. Even after all these years, affection and physical touch were still foreign to him, he blamed his abusive and loveless upbringing, though it was something he'd long made peace with.

It was then that he saw her approach the chair, finding it empty. She wore an elegant maroon sweater, maybe of cashmere, and dark jeans that flattered her figure as well as dark leather ankle boots. Only now he noticed she wore small and delicate earrings that dangled. He could tell they weren't the sort one would find at the jewelry shop, but rather handcrafted and painted ones, probably purchased in one of the many places Hermione had been to. She looked just as he remembered her, effortlessly pretty. Close to no make-up at all, curly hair still framing her face in that rebellious way that was so very much _her._

"You dedicated your book to me…" He pointed out, with a smug grin, holding his copy up.

"Yeah, I did… For some reason our day in Vienna really stuck with me, you know?" He nodded, quietly. And then the saucy passages he'd read came to the forefront of his mind, and just like a teenage boy he couldn't help himself.

"Are all of those _naughty bits_ subliminal messages for me?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her, adoring how her cheeks turned a bright red. She walked closer to him wearing an amused smile, swatting him on the arm.

"Of course not, you wanker!" Harry laughed at her flattery.

"Forgive me for thinking myself worthy of your _good graces_." He winked at her flirtatiously and she pouted adorably, knitting her eyebrows together and glaring at him like an angry kitten.

"Oh, Harry, will you be serious for a minute!" Hermione begged, the atmosphere around them suddenly shifting. "Look, for some reason I really missed you… _I_ , I never thought it possible for a person that I met for only a day to make such a lasting impact on my life…" He nodded, his teasing smile fading.

"To be honest, Hermione, I'm rather relieved you feel the same as me…" Harry admitted, eyes locking with hers. "When I saw your name in the newspaper, that you were here in Paris as well… At first I couldn't believe it, but then suddenly all I wanted, all I cared to do was come running and go through this endless queue of people to see you."

"I'm so glad you did…" She smiled brightly at him, her eyes sparkling and beautiful. "Would you like to have dinner?"

Before Harry could respond a man appeared next to her, wrapping an arm casually around Hermione's shoulder. He wore elegant midnight-blue trousers and matching vest over a white dress shirt, his hair the exact opposite of Harry's, perfectly coiffed, well-cut and flattering. He looked at Harry up and down, a smile appearing on the corner of his sharp blue eyes.

"Who's this, Bunny?" he asked Hermione, who shook his arm away, looking every bit annoyed at the silly nickname.

"Fabian, this is Harry. Harry, my _beloved_ cousin Fabian."

"Not the one with the pet badger, I hope!" Was Harry's response, a bit of relief washing over him as he wiped away any irrational fears that the practically perfect-looking human being wasn't Hermione's significant other of sorts. Fabian's eyes lit up and a Cheshire-cat smile appeared on his face.

"Ah, so Bun-Bun told you all about me!" He turned to Hermione and bumped her gently, "I knew I was the most interesting thing in your life!" Harry couldn't help but laugh at Hermione's visible annoyance, watching as she rolled her eyes at him much like she'd roll her eyes at Harry in Vienna. "Say, Harry… Such an English name!" Fabian flirted, "Do you have plans for tonight?" He winked at him salaciously.

Harry's eyes turned toward Hermione and he laughed at her expression of pure horror.

"Only if it involves a three-way, I'm afraid!" He winked at Hermione who gasped, her eyes going almost as wide as saucers.

"Oh, Harry, I'm afraid I'm not a big fan of bushes, much less two bushes… If you catch my drift…" Fabian responded, apologetically, only to be punched in the arm by his cousin who was by now a malagueta pepper, her face so red Harry thought she might implode. Harry laughed like he hadn't in a long, long time and soon even Hermione joined him, leaning on the floor-to-ceiling shelf for support.

"You idiot, I can't believe you said that!" She scolded her cousin in between laughs.

"You don't have a brother, love, so someone has to play the part!"

That was how Harry Potter found himself standing in Fabian Bell's living room an hour later, overwhelmed by all of the bold-colored printed wallpaper, pots and more pots of plants and greenery and silk Indian saris for curtains and sofa pillow cases. The rug was Turkish and the whole room should be considered a prime example of how not to mix styles and textiles, but somehow, miraculously it looked absolutely stunning. And very, very Fabian.

"Well, the kitchen beckons, I'm afraid…" Fabian cried out dramatically. "Don't misbehave _too_ much while I'm gone! It's the first time Bunny brings a boyfriend home!" He ruffled his cousin's hair in a patronizing manner that she swerved away from, cursing him under her breath.

As soon as Fabian turned away Hermione plopped down on the magenta Chesterton sofa, tired from the hours of signing books. She watched Harry look around the living room, examining the pictures frames on the wall, until his eyes fell upon a large image of a beautiful woman, it looked old-fashioned, but the lady itself was exquisite with her dark waves of hair, translucent skin and watery blue eyes. She had an air of mystery, but was also smooth and sensual… She looked like an actress.

"Your cousin a fan?" Harry pointed and Hermione followed his gaze.

"I guess you can say that… Though in reality that's our granny."

"Your granny?" Harry asked in disbelief, "your grandmother?" Hermione's hands went to her hips and she looked at him in that sharp manner that meant she was serious.

"She was an actress… Cynthia Bell. Of course, her actual name as per family tradition was Hyacinth, we're all cursed with impractical names… She passed away when Fabian and I were both nineteen, she was the best really. She lived here in Paris and the two of us spent all of our summers here with her, until the very end. She died at 99-years-old." Harry nodded in understanding.

"Was she very famous?"

"Famous?" Harry nodded, "Oh Harry, she was more than famous, she was a star and very much a diva…" And then Hermione leaned in and whispered: "Fabian is too much like her if you ask me and I hate that he solely inherited all of her good looks!" Harry laughed heartily at her comment.

"Do you not own a mirror, Hermione? You look a lot like your granny, especially the pretty hair." Hermione scoffed, waving off his compliment.

"My hair is _not_ pretty." It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes then.

"You're right, your hair is better than pretty…" Hermione raised a brow quizzically, Harry shrugged, "Your hair is _wild_ , I like it, suits you." His words, as well as the intensity of his gaze, made her blush for the umpteenth time this evening, and Hermione didn't like it one bit.

Moments later they were both sitting on the sofa, in comfortable and tired silence, each one with their glass of martini, courtesy of chef Fabian who was putting the final touches on their dinner. And then her voice quietly cut away the silence:

"Will you properly say goodbye, this time?" Harry turned his head, their eyes locking.

"Unless you're passed out drunk, yes." She smiled and nodded, taking his hand in hers.

"I'll try not to…" Before Hermione could say anything else Fabian appeared from inside the kitchen, donning his apron and matching chef's hat.

"Dinner time, love doves! Let's get moving to the table!" Hermione groaned dramatically.

"My stomach is dreadfully hungry, but dreadfully dismayed it is vegan food," Hermione complained to Harry, who to be quite honest had no idea what vegan even was.

"Oh, zip it! It'll do you good, Bun-Bun!" Fabian said, patting her belly, implying she was overweight. "Your sweet tooth will be the death of you, remember your Granddad Granger?" Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry chuckled, and then he turned to Harry and whispered: "Old man was so wide he barely fit into his casket, think Winston Churchill, type."

Dinner progressed relatively smoothly with Harry being pleasantly surprised with the knowledge that vegan food didn't include any meats, dairy or other derivatives. Despite Fabian's efforts, he quite missed delighting in a good pot roast, pork chops or even a juicy steak. Thoughts of Molly Weasley's indescribably good cuisine filled his mind but gave him enough appetite to go on and eat everything of which Fabian had set on the table hungrily. Hermione watched him with curious eyes, though she was a bit tipsy as this was her fourth or fifth glass of red wine. She needed something to wash away the horrible taste of soy 'meat' from her mouth. Fabian watched them with interest and smugness he just couldn't hide. When Harry finally finished off the last of the chickpea salad, pushing his plate a bit forward and wiping his mouth with a napkin, Hermione's cousin rested his chin on his linked hands, a sly grin on his face.

"Hermione, don't you just _love_ a man with an appetite?" The way he said it, sensually, eyes locking with Harry's was enough to make a blush creep onto the wizard's cheeks and for Hermione to choke on her garlic bread.

Harry coughed, nervously, his eyes locking with Hermione's, who was now laughing soundly, throwing her head back and shaking in delight. Tipsy Hermione was a sight for sore eyes.

"Err–Fabian… What is your line of work?" Harry asked, in an obvious attempt to take the man's attention away from flirting him.

"Oh, Harry, I thought you'd never ask!" he exclaimed with a dramatic flourish which was something Harry surmised was genetic, having learned of their movie-star grandmother. Hermione was prone to dramatics herself, if he well remembered their short time together in Vienna. "I am a veterinarian for the _stars_!"

" _Stars?_ " Harry asked, knitting his brows together in confusion. "Aren't veterinarians like doctors for animals?"

"Yes, indeed, but _I_ don't work for your everyday mutt or kitten, no, my friend. I work with superb creatures… Exotic birds, elephants, wolves, cobras, tigers… Just about any animal that is set to star in a film or show. Like I said, I work for _stars._ Did you see that recent movie, about the golden retriever that dies? I was a veterinarian to _that_ dog. He almost won a Golden Globe, you know… Leonardo DiCaprio _who_?" Hermione couldn't help but laugh even louder, her face turning red.

"I can't believe you think a _dog_ would be capable of winning a movie award! You're bloody delusional, Fabian!" She finally said as she sipped some water to ease the pain in her belly from all the humor.

"Delusional are you, Bunny, who thinks people will like watching _documentaries_ about lepers." Her cousin retorted rather cruelly. Hermione clicked her tongue in distaste at his poor comment and rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'm currently working with lemur monkeys for a new movie… Something about midnight in a big old museum."

"That's actually an interesting line of work. I have a friend who works with dragons…" Fabian bent his neck and shared a look with Hermione that screamed 'this one's bonkers'. Harry noticed and immediately fixed his mistake, "Actually, I think they're komodo dragons?"

" _Oh_ , that's quite interesting. Those are quite lethal…" Fabian responded. "I would like to meet this friend of yours one day, Harry… Perhaps we'd have more in common…" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, "If you know what I mean…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Fabian!" Hermione admonished him. "Not everyone is yours for the taking!" Fabian frowned, looking rather taken aback. "Dinner was _quite nice_ , but to be honest I could use the main course right about now. Harry, walk with me." Harry, surprised, excused himself from the table and from Fabian and followed her out of the door and into the street. "God, these pastries have been calling my name…" She exclaimed, entering the Portuguese pastry shop right next to Fabian's building. Harry chuckled.

"I could use a _pastel de Natas_ myself… Hopefully the ones here are as good as the ones in Lisbon…" Both of them looked at the delectable array of pastries, suddenly feeling that vegan dinner evaporate from their stomachs and making more room for dessert.

" _Bonsoir!_ " Hermione called out to see if anyone would come out to service them. In walked a handsome young man of dark hair and eyes wearing an apron with the logo. It didn't take long for the delicious, sweet and crunchy pastries with warm custard and cinnamon to make their evening even better.

They found themselves a seat, having decided on staying a bit longer and catching up without Fabian maliciously commentating on the littlest of looks.

"Finally! Real food! I haven't had these for ages..." Hermione took a bite of the pastel, letting that custard and flaky goodness explode in her mouth causing her to let out a very audible moan. Extreme bliss was on her face as she ate up another.

Harry who had let himself get distracted by her, cleared his throat. Personally, he never thought it fascinating to watch someone eat, at least not after witnessing his friend Ron attack his meals three times a day every day for seven years. But with Hermione there was a certain wonder and joy that simply radiated, like a brilliant quidditch move he could replay all over again. "So… Fabian… He's interesting…" Harry started, nibbling at his pastry.

"I love him but sometimes he's just too much..." Hermione said, with a shake of her head, taking another _pastel_.

"Ever thought that perhaps he feels the same way about you?" Harry pushed the plate toward her, feeling that she should eat the rest of it since he'd taken his fill of Fabian's vegan food earlier.

"Are you sure?" She asked about the pastries, before gladly accepting the rest of it and taking a sip from her cup of black coffee. "And yes, he probably does. I don't have a sibling, you know, and he doesn't have one either so we sort of have this dynamic with each other. He's my only cousin…" She was quiet for a moment before the corners of her lips curved into a wistful smile. "We lived close to one another growing up in London, my mum and his mum are twins and having grown up together they wanted the same for us. We spent the summers of our childhood here in Paris with our granny and after he finished Uni, he moved immediately. This was always his favorite place on Earth. Granny had always let us be free and entirely ourselves, so I reckon this was where he felt he could be himself, make a home." Harry nodded, enjoying the tidbits of information about her family that she was sharing.

"What about you? Have you got a cousin you'd love to hate and vice versa?" She had finished the last piece and wiped the corners of her mouth with a tissue.

Harry thought for a while about his only cousin Dudley who had used him as a punching bag during all their boyhood years. He later realized that Dudley had bullied him mostly because of Uncle Vernon's deplorable example and well, because Dudley had been a dunce growing up. Later though, in their adult life, having matured enough, his cousin took the initiative to apologize and make amends with Harry. The two of them as of a few years created a more cordial relationship, occasionally meeting up at the pub to watch muggle sports like rugby or boxing. But it would never be like what Hermione and Fabian had, _that_ was friendship _and_ love. Perhaps only the relationships Harry had with his mates could compare. He briefly thought of Ron who was soon to be married, of Neville who had just been made Herbology professor at Hogwarts and of Luna Lovegood who much like him was a world traveler, but following her passion of magizoology.

"You missed a spot." He purposely changed the topic and gestured on his own mouth to where Hermione should clean. She wiped the opposite side. Harry wanted badly to wipe it himself but that felt like overstepping an imaginary boundary and if Fabian were here, he'd be sure to tease them mercilessly, the absolute terror that he was, making him and Hermione go red as a consequence. "The other side."

She finally wiped it off and then thanked him.

"So, Harry, shall we go back to the flat?" He smiled and nodded, gesturing for the server to bring them their check.

…

Minutes later Harry felt himself yawn as he and Hermione reentered Fabian's flat.

"I'm stuffed! Do you mind if I go in the guestroom first and take a shower in the bathroom?" Hermione asked him as she unsuccessfully stifled a yawn as well. Earlier, he'd agreed on staying for the rest of the night. They stood outside one of the rooms on the second floor.

"I don't. I could just sit in the living room or wait outside..." He answered.

"Thank you." She sleepily smiled. "Don't wander into any room. This place is a menagerie of death!" She earned, entering the guest room.

"Oh! You're already here!" Fabian had suddenly appeared later on the second floor landing as Harry curiously looked around the decor and framed photographs. "Where's bun-bun?"

"Err, she's taking a shower."

"Really? How come you're not joining her?" Fabian waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry felt his face heat up a bit as he carefully tried not to imagine a naked woman in the shower, especially _that_ naked woman. He shook his head. Hermione's cousin looked at him closely.

"Hmm...I could see why my dear cousin would be so into you… Blimey, your eyes are so green I–"

" _FABIAN!_ " A shriek interrupted him. Both Harry and Fabian turned their heads to the guest room door, which had just opened to show Hermione dressed up for bed, her hair a bit damp, and her face of both mortification and vexation. " _YOUR BLOODY SNAKE IS AT IT AGAIN!_ " She screamed at her cousin.

" _Oh!_ I was in fact looking for Sylvie! I was wondering where'd she gone after she had her dinner..." Fabian replied nonchalantly.

"You have a snake called Sylvie?" Harry asked.

"A boa constrictor, to be specific."

"Stop letting your _dangerous_ pets out! That thing could kill anyone! It could've strangled me in the room!" She continued.

"That thing is a _she_ , and no _she_ wouldn't kill you, Bunny."

"Well, _she_ might as well have. I could've gotten a heart attack from her suddenly appearing, hanging in the bloody closet!"

"Bunny _darling_ , you wouldn't get a heart attack if you ate well and exercised…" Fabian chastised, not looking one bit fazed by his cousin's near-meltdown.

Harry sneaked himself inside the guest room, leaving the quarreling cousins be. It was time to put one of his 'talents' to use and to be honest he'd grown tired of seeing Hermione constantly check for the snake beneath every cushion and surface, always on edge and watching things from the corner of her eyes. All this paranoia needed to come to an end, and Merlin hex him if he wouldn't be the one to fix things so that he could get a moment of peace and rest in this bloody city.

" _Sylvie?"_ He spoke in Parseltongue, hoping to rush this so that the cousins didn't catch him hissing like a mad man.

" _Who are you? You can talk to me?"_ Sylvie sounded a bit different from the snakes he'd met. Harry never would have guessed that a snake could have a Parisian accent.

" _I'm Harry and yes I can."_ He could see the large snake hanging next to some clothes in the open wardrobe.

" _Magnifique! I've never met a human being who could talk to me!"_ She hissed.

" _Err, yeah...keep that a secret, alright?"_

" _As if I can tell Fabian I could speak to you!"_ Harry thought he could see her do a snake equivalent of eye-rolling.

" _Anyway, why were you in Hermione's closet?"_

" _It's a very comfortable place to lounge around after a dinner of four mice."_ She slithered out of the closet, circling around Harry's ankles.

" _Okay…? Do you always love bothering her?"_

" _Hermione? Yes!"_

" _Why?"_

" _Because Fabian loves to tease her and I love doing that as well! She's so funny when she's mad!"_ Sylvie curled around his shoulders, the snake was 'face to face' with him.

" _Do you think you could tone that down a bit?"_

" _Maybe. Why do you care so much?"_

" _Because–"_

"Oh my god! It's attacking Harry!" The door had burst open, slamming against the dramatically wallpapered wall. "Get Sylvie away from him, Fabian!" Hermione pushed her cousin who almost came stumbling towards Harry. Fabian only laughed.

"Oh don't you see, bun-bun? Sylvie's just getting acquainted with Mr. Green Eyes here. She seems to really like him. _Come here,_ _mon coeur_." he finally said, with a tone of voice one would normally reserve for babies or puppies.

" _It was nice talking to you, Harry. Until next time…"_ She uncurled herself from him and then towards her owner.

"Bloody hell! Are you hurt? Where's the puncture? I'm not sure if I know how to take the venom out! I'm going to _kill_ Fabian if you end up dead before him!" She immediately began to fuss all over Harry, which elicited a hearty laugh from him, one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and sounded indecently delicious to Hermione's ears.

"They're called Boa _CONSTRICTORS_ , bunny, they don't have venom!" Fabian announced from the hall.

"You're ridiculous, Fabian!" She shouted back then looked at Harry who now sat on the bed, still laughing. " _What?_ "

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just amused that I got to confirm my theory… You are indeed crazy and paranoid, Moneypenny." Hermione's response was to huff and roll her eyes.

"Whatever, Harry. Now get off, I'm sleeping on the bed." She tried to push him away, but he wouldn't budge.

"I thought you wanted to sleep with me..." He patted the space on the bed, grinning like the bloody bastard he was.

"Ha! In your dreams, Harry Potter." She rolled her eyes then successfully pushed him off with extreme force.

"Where am I supposed to stay?"

"You have two options, either the day bed next to Sylvie's _abode_ or on a mattress on the floor. Actually, I think my cousin wouldn't oppose to your company in his bed either, so three options, really..." Harry rolled his eyes at her tasteless teasing.

"A mattress is fine as long as you don't snore."

"Don't be silly, Harry. Proper ladies don't snore!" A few hours later Harry Potter found out that _yes_ , ladies _did_ snore and Hermione Granger was one of them… But he didn't mind it at all.

…

" _Harry?_ " He heard her voice, just above a whisper resonated throughout the guest room.

It was hard for him to focus at first, what with the bedroom's wallpaper being covered in a whimsical showpiece of _perroquet_ , butterflies, and tropical flowers in sweet pastel colors on a midnight-blue background. Warm light from the halogen bulb of a giraffe-shaped floor lamp highlighted it in the dark and Harry could see a bit of Hermione's shadow on one side of the wall. Every room in this house seemed to be animal-themed and scream 'exotic'... There was no way one could take Fabian Bell for anything but an animal lover. Harry was amused at the memory of meeting Hermione's cousin hours ago and hearing a bit of their beguiling family history. It gave him that slight pang of want. He only wished that he could have that… A family, history, love and such wonderful memories, to be able to know and share histories. A part of him deeply envied them.

"Harry, are you awake?" She had rolled herself to the edge of the canopy bed, looking earnestly down at him. He squinted, his glasses were being rested somewhere but he could still see her for the light brightened on her face. He was lying down on a floor mattress next to the bed.

"I'm awake." He answered, reaching for his glasses and slipping them on.

"I didn't wake you?" She whispered.

"You didn't." It was a little white lie, but he felt rested enough. He wasn't used to full nights of sleep anyway, probably never had been what with being plagued with nightmares for so long and now with his hectic line of work and constantly switching time zones.

"I couldn't sleep any longer… I don't know why. Anxiety maybe?" She rolled back to the middle of the bed, staring at the ceiling.

" _Maybe._.." Harry sat up and looked at the parrot-shaped wall clock. "It's nearly four in the morning..."

"I have an idea." She said. "What time is your flight?"

"Um… six hours from now." He calculated the time before answering. "Leaving from de Gaulle airport."

"Do you want to go for a walk with me?" He couldn't help but smile at the childlike hope in the way Hermione asked, she simply couldn't hide the insecure and mostly lonely little girl she once was.

"Actually, I'd love to, Moneypenny."

They didn't even bother with proper clothes, slipping out in their flannel and cotton pajamas, throwing coats and scarves on, tiptoeing out as to avoid waking Fabian. The streets of the 10th Arrondissement were quiet and empty, the only lights being from the antiquated lamp posts along the sidewalk. Harry buried his hands in his coat pockets and let the cold December air hit his cheeks, fully awaking him.

Paris was undeniably beautiful having a charm that even his beloved streets of London couldn't compare to. He recalled a bit of information he'd read or seen somewhere on muggle television where even Hitler, perhaps one of the cruelest men in history, when arriving in Paris was so in awe and mesmerized that he had entire _quartiers_ closed off and evacuated of people so that he could wander the streets in peace, taking in all of the beauty and the magic that was this city.

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked him, watching his expression with curiosity. His green eyes shone even in the darkness of the night… Mesmerizing, like few things she'd seen in life.

"Hitler, oddly enough." Surprise and confusion were written all over her features as she looked at him quizzically. He chuckled, enjoying the fact that he now actually had someone he could talk to about these things.

" _Why?"_ Was Hermione's single outcry, as she linked her arm with his, surprising them both in an action of pure intimacy. Harry liked it though, a lot, feeling her touch and the warmth of her against him. It was _fucking_ freezing out anyway.

"Because even he, with his heart of stone and all his cruelty and cold-bloodedness, saw the beauty in this city, was amazed by it… Like I am right now. Can you believe this is actually my first time here?" Hermione shook her head, wearing a tender smile.

"I like it when you share your thoughts and feelings… You're always so private."

"I know… I just, I don't know how else to be, really." Harry stared down at his feet, for a second thinking the stone-pavement of the street they walked upon was oh-so-interesting. She playfully nudged him with her elbow.

"Don't worry Harry, all Englishmen are emotionally stunted in one way or another… My saving grace is that I have quite a bit of French blood in me, and partly grew up here."

"And you talk a mile a minute." She smiled in spite of herself.

When Harry looked up again he realized they'd already walked down the two blocks to the lovely Canal Saint-Martin, a peaceful and lovely tree-lined affluent of the river Seine. It was all theirs at this point. It was so simple, so utterly quaint that Harry felt a warmth take over him. Perhaps he wouldn't feel this way if Hermione Granger weren't here on his arm.

"This is my favorite street in all of Paris… My granny lived not too far, I can see why my cousin chose to live nearby." Harry nodded.

"Must be a sight during the day, in the springtime…" He took in the view of the little bridge crossing and Hermione smiled, nodding. She pulled at his hand and soon, they were in the middle of the bridge and he watched as she passed through the railings and stood leaning back on them, on the very edge. One tiny push and she'd fall into the bone-cold water, still flowing despite the temperature.

"When I was little I used to come here… I used to spend hours throwing little stones into the water, the flat ones of course, watching them skip across the surface of the water… _One, two, three_ times... My all-time record was five. Sometimes I simply liked to sit and watch the little circles forming. It soothed me."

"When I was a little boy I ran… I had to be the fastest or my cousin Dudley and the neighborhood bullies would catch me, beat me up. I had no friends. But one day I ran so far that I reached a park I had never been to. There was a tree there, I don't know what kind, but there was a hollow at the base of her trunk, rather hidden because of its thick roots and I hid there. It was so quiet, so peaceful. I fit inside perfectly, I was much smaller than the boys my age, very skinny. It was the only place I had peace… Sometimes I'd sit there talking to myself, making up stories. Other days I would cry because things sometimes got to being too much. Some other days I'd fall asleep… I started hiding little treasures there. Nothing fancy as I didn't own anything of the sort. A yo-yo I found one day, a red bird-feather, a shiny stone… I had a tiny pocket notebook where I wrote all of the interesting things I'd see," he said this with a sad smile and Hermione was taken aback by the glimmer of tears pooling in his eyes. And then he huffed, taking in a deep breath. "That little hole in the tree was more my home than the one I lived in..."

"Oh, Harry…" she cried out softly, grabbing his hand.

"I never told anyone about this…" He admitted, with a sad smile. "Thank you."

"Oh, _pfft_ , what for?"

"For being you… for letting me, I don't know, talk about things. You're not superficial, Hermione Granger, you _care_ and I like that about you." She was quite at a loss for words after that one.

Both of them continued to walk around the Canal Saint-Martin, not really feeling the need to speak much, each one comfortably lost in their thoughts and also in the moment. They later sat side by side on one of those wooden benches by the river bank. It was still dark. They held onto their coats, the temperature dropping. Harry had actually muttered a slight warming charm.

"I didn't think this through. I'm sorry." She commented, seeing his bare hands and taking them into her gloved ones, rubbing them for heat. "Perhaps we could look for a 24-hour café..." She suggested.

"It's fine, actually. I like it over here. It's quiet and peaceful for once. It's very serene without the tourists." He looked beyond the river, then at her and what she was doing, their hands still entwined. He wasn't affected by the cold but liked this gesture from her and didn't want to complain, wouldn't dare to. It felt _nice._

She smiled then, but he noticed it wasn't the carefree smiles he remembered from their time in Vienna.

"Hermione, I've been meaning to ask... Back at the bookshop, you didn't look too alright to me." Harry figured this was the best time to bring it up, he couldn't shake the worry from seeing so much sadness in her eyes, even if she tried so well to hide it. Hermione seemed to have frozen a bit upon hearing his observation and she couldn't help but look away. She then let go of his hands and tucked a stray string of curls behind her ear. "I'm sorry if I'm being intrusive." He quickly added.

His comment was met with a long moment of slightly tense silence until she sighed deeply.

"It's fine, Harry." She was still looking away. "It's just that I'm going to have a shitty Christmas this year..." She scoffed, rolling her eyes at herself. "You'd think there would be much more terrible things in the universe to worry about than this, I feel stupid honestly…"

"You mean because you'll be spending it with Fabian? He's not half as bad as you make him out to be, you know." She looked at him and made a face.

"His crowd isn't my type of crowd and the only reason I'm in this predicament is because of my _parents_." She sighed. "You know how I mentioned that they're living in Menorca?" He nodded, recalling one of their conversations back in Vienna. The nudist parents, yes. "Well, the three of us agreed that I'd be going to Spain after my book event here to spend Christmas with them but apparently I'm that easily forgettable because they'd made plans with their friends to _bloody_ Thailand! I'm their only child! To think I had to beg my agent and his secretary to make sure nothing would be holding me up during the days leading to Christmas! And now it's all for nothing. I'll probably spend the next few days raiding Fabian's wine shelf and not even _Sylvie_ will be able to stop me." She gave another sigh. How someone could look so absolutely adorable while so angry came as a mystery to Harry, but he adored her pouty lips and her furrowed eyebrows… The blazing fire in her eyes.

Harry frowned for a bit, suddenly remembering the fact that he wasn't invited to the annual Weasley family Christmas feast anymore. He'd learned firsthand how lonely it was to spend special occasions alone. This year, in particular, he'd gotten closer to the Weasley's, but being there when Ginny was bringing her new boyfriend for the first time was perhaps too much.

"I don't think you're easily forgettable, Hermione." He suddenly felt an urge to bring her closer to him, and he did, pulling her closer with one arm. "You know, last year in Vienna, I admit, was one of the most fun things I've experienced in a long time..."

"You left immediately after though..." She cut in.

"I know I did, but it doesn't mean I wanted to. My work..." He trailed off, needing to say no more, not being able to either.

"You could've left your mobile or email." She plainly said.

"Yeah, I could have, but what would we have done? Met up again? And after that?" He sighed, caressing her arm soothingly over her red wool coat, not noticing just how intimate a thing it was. "Over the past few months I thought what happened between us was just what it was, you know? And I reckoned it was better than nothing. Who would've guessed we'd meet again? I dare say it was an odd twist of fate that I saw your name in the newspaper yesterday morning and that we were both in Paris at the same time." He said.

"I thought you'd search for me. I tried to look you up but there were so many Harry Potters and Henry's too that would appear in the search results that I honestly began to wonder whether Harry Potter was your actual name! And then I was working on the final chapters of my book and thought I'd try to reach out to you subtly. I was hoping you'd see my name on the book and you'd read the dedication..." She recounted.

"And I did, well, at the bookshop…" He nudged her and she chuckled. "Weren't for that newspaper thing I'd still be in my hotel room right now, waiting for my alarm to ring and then on to the next destination. Vienna seemed like such a long time ago..." He said amusingly. "Doesn't mean it wasn't meaningful, though." Hermione grew silent.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" After a beat, she asked.

"Well, I'll be in South America for work." He answered.

" _Oh,_ " Was what she only said next.

" _Oh?_ What does 'oh' mean?" He asked, sensing a follow-up.

"It's nothing." Harry scoffed at her response, knowing very well that there was always _something_ to her words.

"Come on, Moneypenny, just tell me." He insisted.

"Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted a sort of Vienna 2.0. You know, the two of us hanging out on Christmas Eve and beyond. Maybe not exactly here and obviously not with Fabian and his _peculiar_ friends. Maybe somewhere else… I've been meaning to visit a place… It's a bit of a long drive but not that much, doable really. It's an island, but when the tide goes down it isn't anymore, and oh, Harry, it looks so beautiful… I think you would like it… Do I sound mental? The idea's bloody ridiculous and of course you've made plans with your friends… Forget about it…" She was rambling, not catching his gaze, and nervously biting her lower lip again. Harry frowned.

"Well, I wish I could do that with you. I would rather do that than spend my entire Christmas holiday doing _work-related things_ but…" He trailed off in sincere lamentation. And then he looked at her, his eyes widening as an idea formed in his head. Hermione raised an eyebrow in interest. "Maybe I could prepare something for you and Fabian... Perhaps a Christmas Eve breakfast or brunch? If your cousin doesn't mind of course." Hermione's face lit up.

"I didn't know you could cook…" Harry shrugged and set a smug grin on his face.

"Oh, _dear_ and _famous_ Miss Granger, I have many a trick up my sleeve… I'm practically a magician." His voice was playful and goofy, his emerald-green eyes shining. She scoffed and laughed at his words and Harry once again thought to himself ' _if only she knew'._ "So, what are your thoughts on French toast, bacon and eggs, freshly ground coffee?"

"Hmm, splendid… It's a date then, James." Harry smiled, overtaken by an almost overwhelming feeling of affection towards her.

"It's a date, Moneypenny." Harry echoed, etching that beautiful look of pure delight on her face into his brain.

…

To say Hermione Granger was a disaster in the kitchen was an understatement, but Harry wouldn't have his _sous-chef_ in any other way. He watched her as she painstakingly ground the black pepper over the scrambled-eggs and bacon sizzling in the pan.

"Careful not to put too much or you won't be able to taste the actual eggs." He warned, nudging her side gently. He heard her huff and though he couldn't see her expression he knew she'd rolled her eyes at him.

Fabian was still in his bedroom, passed out on the bed as he wasn't known to wake up before 9 am ever in his life. Nor Hermione or Harry were complaining about this little fact, as they tried to enjoy every little minute together before he was set to leave for Guiana. Hermione gathered the cutlery and set a small vase of assorted blooms at the center of the dining table while Harry did the honors of serving each of their plates with eggs and bacon, the French toast looking most delectable as it waited for them to do the honors.

"Don't you think it rather odd?" She began, after taking a long sip of her Earl Grey tea like any decent British woman.

"What's odd?" He asked, delighting in his eggs. It was rare that he got a chance to put his culinary talents to work and he took quite a bit of joy in it.

"How this is the second Christmas Eve in a row that we spend together, and it wasn't at all planned…" Hermione took a bite of the sweet and cinnamon-flavored French toast. "I wonder, could we somehow make it happen again next year?" Harry smiled at her proposition but paused to think for a moment. He finished his cuppa and ceremoniously wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. He saw the anxiety in her eyes and decided to finally blurt out what he'd been wishing for since the moment he saw her at the bookstore, hell, since way before even.

"Actually, I was planning on asking you your plans for next year… I'd very much love to see you again." There was a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks and Hermione couldn't help but beam.

"Shall we make a tradition of it, then, _James Bond_?"

"Only if you agree, _Moneypenny._ " Hermione leaped out of her chair and nearly knocked both of them over as she wrapped her arms around him in the tightest and warmest and most tender hug since last Easter at the Burrow when Molly Weasley hugged him… But of course Molly was Molly and Hermione, she was entirely something else.

…

"Oh no," Hermione said as she realized what time it is. "You're going to miss your flight!" She looked at Harry who was languidly enjoying his cup of coffee.

He only shrugged. "I can always go on the next flight." He was having such a great time with her, he didn't even want to leave for South America anymore. If he could skip the mission, he would, but Peder would have his head if he didn't show up.

She bit her lip. "Are you sure? It's all my fault! I shouldn't have held you up!"

"It's fine, Hermione. I love that I get to do this to be honest. I'm going to be stuck with Peder for the rest of the week, it's going to be boring and I'll be having this day to think of fondly. I'd rather hang out with Fabian and his creatures than be with that droll." He assured her.

She nodded."Who's Peder?"

"Just someone I work with from time to time." He replied.

" _Ooh!_ Like Felix Leiter!" She chattered.

"I don't know what you mean or who that is." He amusingly claimed. Hermione's eyes were all shine.

"Anyway, _Mr. Secret Agent_ , if you don't mind, I'd like to drop you off at the airport..." She stated in that haughty way of hers.

"That's a brilliant idea actually. And would you stop with this James Bond, Secret Agent nonsense?" He smiled at her and she smiled back in that Cheshire cat way.

"We could leave in a bit so that you can still check out the ticketing office for the next flight."

"Next flight to where?" Fabian arrived wearing his monogrammed burgundy paisley silk dressing gown, his hair still perfectly coiffed even from sleep.

" _Ugh!_ How is your hair still perfect!" Hermione commented with utter frustration.

"Perfect genes, bunny. And _bonjour_ to you too." He did a flamboyant turn. "Now who's going where?"

"Harry's missed his flight to French Guiana and we're planning to leave in a bit so that he can get another ticket." She rolled her eyes at her cousin.

"And here I thought you were going to stay with us for Christmas, Green Eyes. My calendar is filled with invites and I was going to show you off to my friends." Fabian sat next to Harry then wrinkled his nose when he saw the plate of bacon on the table. "Mr. Potter! How dare you!"

"Not everyone's like you, Fabian." She rolled her eyes again.

"Watch out, dear, your eyes might finally pop out." He replied. "Well, I guess I'll be stuck with Hermione Jean 'life of the party, _not_ ' Granger."

"Hey! I'll be stuck with you too and your _odd_ crowd!" Hermione protested.

"You're the only one who's _odd_ , bun-bun." He scoffed.

Harry looked at her and said, "Your middle name is _Jean_?"

"Yes, it is, after my dad's mum… I think it's about time I take you to the airport." Her attention was now on Harry, completely ignoring Fabian who just now decided to put the plate of bacon away.

"Interesting and yes, we should." He faced Fabian who returned to his seat and was now eating some vegan breakfast bar he had gotten from one of his cupboards. "Thanks for your hospitality. It's been, er, interesting."

"Oh, it's nothing. She's never brought _anyone_ to meet the family. You'd think uncle and auntie had sent her to a convent in Nepal. I was considering getting her a gigolo on her next birthday just so that she could _get some_. But I guess I now have money for my Bali trip next year." He winked at his cousin who had now gone red.

"Fabian!" She glared. "I hate you! And you know nothing of my sex life!"

"I know as much and I know you love me, bun-bun. I know _I'm_ your favorite cousin."

"You're my _only_ cousin!"

During the whole exchange, Harry had only observed them with amusement.

"I think we really have to go now." She finally said, looking away from her cousin.

"Harry, if ever you get _bored_ with Miss Bossy Bushy Bookworm or the entire opposite sex, call me if you want to have some _fun_. _If you know what I mean."_ He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'll keep that in mind!" Was Harry's response as he let Hermione drag him away.

"You shouldn't let Fabian get under your skin, _Hermione Jean_." Harry spoke when they've exited Fabian's flat.

"I know, I know… Hey! I don't know what your middle name is! It's only fair that you tell since you already know mine." She trudged towards the pavement.

Harry laughed softly. "I think you'll be delighted by my middle name."

"Oh?" She did her signature eyebrow raise.

"It's James!"

" _Shut up!_ You're kidding!"

"I'm not. It was my father's name."

"Oh, that's brilliant _! Harry James.._."

…

"So, I guess this is where I leave..." Harry held onto the straps of his navy weekender bag that was slung over his right shoulder. The airport speakers just announced that his flight was boarding.

"This was good, seeing you again, after a year. It's amazing, isn't it, how out of all the cities in the world we found each other here, at the same time, you know?" She smiled but it felt a bit bittersweet.

"Our plan for next year is still on?" He asked, hoping to erase that almost sad look on her face.

"Of course! And you must give me your mobile number." She took out her mobile phone from her purse.

Harry shook his head. "Um, well, I don't really have a mobile number. I change numbers a lot."

"Harry, you just basically confirmed you're a _secret agent._ Nobody else would change their numbers regularly unless they're famous celebrities!" She put her mobile back inside. "So how do we even communicate? By email?"

Harry didn't really know how he could explain to her that he didn't really use _muggle technology_ , all that much. Sure, there was the occasional phone, messaging or computer business at work, but in his personal life? He still preferred sending messages via owl. "How about the post?" Hermione looked at him in bewilderment.

"You mean write _letters_?"

"Yes. It's dying but it's still a thing, you know..." He nodded.

"In this day and age?" She was still a bit dumbfounded at the prospect.

"Well, I guess there's only one way to keep it alive, then." She smiled brightly and he smiled back at her quite pleased with their arrangement. "You're turning out quite _interesting_ , Harry Potter." She said playfully as she opened her purse again and took out a red pocket-sized Moleskine notebook and black sign pen. She tore a page and started writing. It took her quite a bit before she handed the folded pieces of paper to him. "Here. Don't open that until you're in the plane."

Harry nodded and placed the folded papers inside the front pocket of his coat and then looked at her curiously "Alright, _famous author,_ give me your notebook, I'll write down my address."

"You better make sure it's your real address, _James._ Wait a minute, how are you going to receive my letters if you're always traveling and doing your special agent business?" She handed the notebook and pen to him, her brows furrowed.

"A friend of mine checks my post for me and forwards them." Was what he only answered as he concentrated on writing. After a while, he closed the notebook and handed it to her. "I should ask you the same question as well."

"What?"

"How are _you_ going to receive my letters when you'll be traveling for your documentary as well?"

"I've written my agent's address in there as well. His secretary does the forwarding too."

"Splendid."

"Yeah."

They stood there facing each other for a long silence-filled moment. Suddenly things had become a slight bit awkward between them, and neither of them knew what to say. Another announcement about Harry's flight sounded.

"I really have to go, Hermione." Hermione saw a sadness in his green eyes that hadn't been there before. He was genuine, about everything, she had an inkling he would indeed write to her. Goodness, how she hoped he did.

"I know, Harry."

"Honestly, I don't really want to. I think I would've preferred being shown off to Fabian's friends, and obviously see more of Paris with you."

"I know...I know…" She laughed at his remark on Fabian, but then sobered up. She bit her lower lip again. "This isn't goodbye? Like a permanent goodbye, like last year in Vienna."

"Well, you're not passed out drunk and I have your address. We have plans, remember?" He patted the front pocket. "I promise you I'll _definitely_ see you again."

"Good. And you know Harry, Paris won't be going anywhere anytime soon. I'd love to show you around more some other time." She felt her lips beginning to tremble, feeling emotional with his departure. Still, Hermione didn't want him to see her like this, she didn't want him to get the wrong idea. She couldn't keep herself from embracing him though, clinging to him for dear life, just for a moment. It took him a few seconds, but he held on to her just as tight. As they began to part she whispered in his ear: " _Au revoir, James._ "

" _Au revoir, Moneypenny._ "

…

Before Hermione left the airport, she stopped by the café for a cup of hot latte. While waiting for her order, she decided to open her notebook to the very page where Harry had written his address. There was a little surprise for her on the page. It brought a smile to her face, because she knew she'd carry it all through the holiday.

_Hermione Jean,_

_You have saved my Christmas twice now. Who would've thought that after Vienna, I'd see you again?_

_I want to thank you for the very little time we've spent together in Paris. Thank you for making me feel welcomed at Fabian's, for the glimpses of your family. I will always treasure it._

_I hope your Christmas will be better than what you expected. You're brilliant, Hermione, absolutely brilliant (don't let this get to your head!), I'll be keeping you and those Portuguese pastries in my thoughts._

_Can't wait to see you again next year. Don't hesitate to keep in touch._

_Wishing you a Happy Christmas!_

_Harry Potter_

Around the same time, seated in an Airbus departing to Cayenne in French Guyana was Harry. He looked out to the airport runway and sighed deeply. He loved his job, but sometimes he hated it. He took out the folded pieces of paper Hermione had given him from his coat pocket. A smile appeared on his face as well as he realized they both had the same idea. He made sure to reread it twice then non-verbally charmed it so that he'd never lose it. _Merlin,_ how he missed her already.

_Dear Harry James,_

_I've met so many strangers in my life but none of them made such a lingering impact as you. I'm very thankful for that rainy day in Vienna and for that packed café. Sharing a table with you was one of the best decisions that I've ever made._

_I love how we met in Paris again and were given a chance to 'reconnect'. I had nearly accepted a few days ago that our adventure in Vienna was and would always be just a memory with a stranger, so far from real life. And now, still even after a day, I think of you as one of my rare friends. That's not all too assuming right? I feel a certain closeness with you that I really cannot explain. Friendships never really were my forte and I'm not exactly sure how I was able to build one with you._

_Harry Potter, you have brightened what could've been my saddest holiday ever._

_I'll be looking forward to our letters, which I realise now is great considering no one really writes them anymore. Our naughty little tradition. Your suggestion is brilliant by the way, I wish I'd been the one to think of it. Thank you, really._

_I can't wait to have another 'adventure' with you._

_Happy Christmas, Harry._

_Love,_

_Hermione Granger._


	4. England part 1

_**England** _

December 2010

* * *

_A few hours outside of Georgetown, Guyana_

23rd December 2010

Thunder rumbled for several moments before the rain pelted down on them. The humidity started fogging Harry's glasses and a quick _Impervius_ charm prevented it from happening again. They were deep within the Amazon rainforest on a stealth mission to retrieve a dark artifact codenamed _Memphis_. A few days ago, Harry and Peder met in the village of Whitewater, on the border between Guyana and Venezuela where a man called Armando accompanied them to a safe house in the commune, along the banks of the Cuyuni River. They spent four days briefing and planning their mission while also collecting information on illegal gold mines strewn about the Amazon region. Armando was joining them and two other operatives who called themselves Stinger and Avalanche against a division of the _Sindicatos_ , a Venezuelan organized crime group, that was far too interested in wizarding relics for comfort.

It was nearly 00:35 when Harry, Peder, and Stinger remained unmoved, hidden among the florae of the tropical rainforest. Armando and Avalanche were scouting ahead at the target location. They had been gone for 15 minutes now, while Harry and his men waited for them to return with information. Harry could hear the scuttling of some creature nearby. He let the sound of flapping wings distract him for a bit, looking up at the tall looming trees covering the full moon. It should be around 4 am in London and in 36 hours he had promised to meet his friend Hermione Granger for Christmas. That was if they all managed to finish this mission in their predicted timeline.

"Someone's coming!" A voice spoke across him. It was Peder, garbed in a black stealth suit just like everybody else. The shadows of the darkness barely hiding the long scar on his left cheek. They all held their breaths in anticipation of getting caught but then relaxed when they realized it was Armando and Avalanche approaching.

"All clear. There's a shack 5 kilometers from here. No guards sighted." Armando spoke in a thick Venezuelan accent. Armando was a metamorphmagus in his fifties who preferred to wear his hair silvery-grey and tied back in a bun. His eyes were dark and his skin a deep red.

"Remember what we briefed. We're dealing with a muggle gang, so no magic, and absolutely no wand-waving until we've retrieved _Memphis_. We're going under the radar here, we don't need local authorities on our tails. Non-magical weapons only and we need total silence, so use daggers instead of guns. Don't kill unless necessary. I recommend you put them out of their consciousness instead. From the intel, they're mostly inexperienced members." Peder repeated instructions as he brought down his ski mask. Only his blue eyes, nose, and mouth were visible. The rest of the group followed his lead.

Harry unsheathed the _Fairbairn–Sykes_ fighting knife attached to his left hip. It wasn't unusual for him to use muggle devices during missions. All of them were equally trained with magical and non-magical means, as per their MI6 statuses. Finally, they began moving forward with the scouts leading the way.

The rain had finally stopped but it had left the ground muddy and slimy. It didn't take long for them to reach the old and dilapidated-looking shack that didn't at all look lived in. Slowly they approached the site on guard in case anyone suddenly attacked. Peder nodded at Harry who kneeled by the door. Harry slowly and quietly opened the door, it creaked as it revealed to them the insides of the shack...

 _Empty_. It was empty. The five of them went around the perimeter but there was nothing to be found. A simple _Hominum Revelio_ would've been useful but they couldn't use their wands.

"This is a fucking dummy," Stinger spoke in his rough voice. He unmasked himself, revealing a square jaw and blond crew cut. "Your Intel was wrong," he complained to Armando in his usual gruff way.

Armando who was leaning against a tree sucked in from his cigarette then blew out, letting the gray smoke wafting in the air. "I've never been wrong," he answered.

"Looks like this is the first time, then, _mate_." Stinger spat.

Harry ignored the beginning of their quarrel as he took in and carefully analyzed the rest of the shack's surrounding area. There was a slight disfigurement in the clearing thirty meters away, like a track one would use all the time, it was deftly covered, but still quite obvious to Harry who was no stranger to living in hiding during the second wizarding war he'd been a pivotal part of at only eighteen. He snapped his fingers, calling their attention."Look!" he pointed at it and then started walking again, following the trail. It led them to a rat-hole beneath a Sumaumeira tree. "Peder and I will check this out while the three of you stay on the look-out. If we're not out in half an hour, go after us. I'll go first." He sheathed his knife back and took a small torch from his belt. The rat-hole was small enough to crawl through and it briefly brought back memories of the large tree in Little Whinging that he used to hide in as a boy. He placed the torch in between his mouth and began his descent. It was a good six meters of crawling before he reached a fork. Harry removed the torch from his mouth and beamed it towards the left and then the right.

"I'll go left." Peder nodded in agreement. They turned off their torches just in case and unsheathed their knives again. Harry continued, the dampness from the rain a while ago was making him cold and the ground underneath him was scratching on his uncovered skin. As he kept on, he could see faint shadows beyond as well as hear several voices, though the language to him was entirely foreign. He paused.

Suddenly, the cave grew so silent that Harry could hear his own breathing. An indistinct noise was heard several heartbeats later, followed by a loud explosion that roared through his ears and head. Harry felt the impact and pain of debris hitting him all over but he still held onto his knife as he felt himself sliding down. He landed forcefully into an even bigger cavernous area where he found Peder unconscious. Harry moved closer to check his colleague's pulse on his carotid, despite his own pain which apparently consisted of a sprained ankle. _Still alive_ , he concluded after examining his partner.

Harry was about to pull Peder away when out of the corner of his eyes he saw two shadows looming in and about to attack. Quickly he clinched the first man off-balance, turned him around and placed a definite knee strike to the face. Harry could feel the crunch of the man's nose as it made contact with his right knee. The man crumpled to the ground before he could produce his Glock 22. Harry very easily disarmed him, taking the gun and unloading the magazine. Before Harry could turn to the other man, he felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. The other opponent had lunged and stabbed him with his knife. Harry managed to ignore the pain and strike him. The man dodged him. Harry threw punches with great difficulty but held his ground as he heard more people on their way. They continued fighting until he gathered enough momentum and brought himself into a position that successfully landed an axe kick. He felt a pull on the back of his thigh as he did that and landed badly on the ground. It didn't take long for the rest to appear. Harry was on the verge of taking out his wand when the rest of his team arrived. It must've been half an hour already or maybe they'd heard the explosion. The skirmish continued. They managed to subdue the opposition before more lethal weapons were taken out and one by one their opponents were contained and tied up.

"Go and retrieve it. We'll handle this." Armando spoke to him while he and Stinger tied the hands of the unconscious men. On his right, Avalanche was trying to revive the unconscious Peder. Harry nodded to the metamorphmagus and with great difficulty, moved forward to the end of the tunnel. There were kerosene lanterns illuminating throughout the area, rendering the cave with a bright yellow glow and also a strong and intoxicating smell. As distanced himself from the others, on the way to retrieve the item that caused so much trouble, he couldn't help but be curious. Their superiors at MI6 had been infuriatingly vague on what this _Memphis_ was exactly.

As Harry walked to the end, there was nothing there except for a large crate. He opened the cover, revealing giant slabs of jagged black stones that looked like incomplete pieces of each other, all with three different scripts, one of them clearly Egyptian hieroglyphs.

" _Fantastic._ Another _bloody-arse_ stone..." He muttered in profound annoyance, finally taking his wand out and placing protective spells around the crate, preparing a portkey for their way out. Harry covered the crate again, feeling dizzy and all of the sudden overwhelmed as his adrenaline abandoned him, making way for exhaustion and throbbing pain all over.

…

_Wandsworth, London, England_

_Wee hours of Christmas Eve 2010_

Harry's letter arrived on perhaps the last sunny day of the year, or so it felt that way as the cold, gloom and winter drizzles of December wedged their way into all of England shortly after. His letter had been mysteriously sitting there on top of her kitchen table, just as a few others before it had, bearing no postage stamps and not even properly sealed. What she saw, and it definitely spooked her once she entered, was a snowy owl with watchful eyes perched on the window above her sink. In all her years of Wandsworth living, _hell_ , of living in England, Hermione Granger had never seen such a beautiful creature, much less poised so gracefully at her window as if waiting to be photographed or put on display. The owl blinked at Hermione and ruffled her wings nonchalantly. Hermione, out of fear of being murdered by a strange bird in her kitchen, like in a scene from Hitchcock's ' _The Birds'_ , grabbed the letter as fast as she could before ducking and rushing out of the room. Luckily she was alone at home and no one had been there to witness such an utterly ridiculous moment.

Hermione locked herself in her study, surrounded by granddad Ulysses Granger's old furniture, and finally exhaled, relaxing into the comfortable leather chair and unfolding what looked like old parchment. _Harry and his strange yet wonderful ways..._

_Dear Moneypenny,_

_I apologize for taking so long in confirming, but Guyana was a difficult one (and no, I can't tell you why because it's top secret). I'll be in London on the 24th, as planned, and cannot wait to see you again. Hopefully, you haven't made other plans for Christmas!_

_Yours,_

_James_

If Hermione was honest, she had mostly come to terms with the fact that Harry wouldn't make it this year, even though their Christmas meeting had been something they'd written to each other and planned extensively throughout the year. However, when Harry had told her about a last-minute mission in Guyana, at the very north of South America, in the middle of the Amazon rainforest, she had felt all her expectations and excitement crumble down.

Hermione was working on it, this pessimistic side of her personality, the one that always brought out her feelings of inadequacy and low self-esteem that plagued her since childhood. But now, reading his messy scrawl in a shade of ink that was almost the color of his eyes, Hermione was hopeful and happy again and also desperately aware of the fact that she hadn't prepared a thing for the holidays, not a tree, nor lights and decorations were set up. She found herself throwing his letter in one of her meticulously organized drawers and went straight down to the boxes in the cupboard under the stairs.

…

A bruised and battered Harry and Peder stood in front of an old and nonfunctional lift found in the abandoned underground Aldwych tube station. The station was closed down somewhere in the 90s and was sometimes used as a filming location and tourist sight. Despite this, it had been serving as the secret headquarters of MI6 and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's joint special forces squad for nearly seven years now, which was about the time Harry had been in Her Majesty's Secret Service.

"Is this going to take any longer?" Peder complained, with his face free of the ski mask, the long red scar on his left cheek becoming clearer under the bright white lights. They were carrying the crate they had retrieved in Guyana, with _Memphis_ safely inside.

"Just wait for the signal. It won't take much time. You know we have to stay clear from unsanctioned muggles." Harry replied, though he himself was impatient, not only because he had somewhere to be, but because the pain of his wounds were becoming too much.

"Bloody tourists." Peder muttered as they finally heard a low whistling noise coming from the lift shaft.

" _Please hold your wands or badges out."_ A cool female voice finally announced. The two men put the crate down and did so. A red light beamed twice before turning blue.

" _Recognised and confirmed. Welcome to Aldwych Underground HQ, Commander Kvistad code MGC-0014 and Commander Potter MGC-005."_ The voice continued as the apparently nonfunctional lift sprang to life, its grill door opening. Harry and Peder lifted the crate back and entered the old thing. Soon they began their descent to one of the platforms that had been converted into office space, desks, cabinets and computer screens scattered about, as well as the bustle of the HQ agents and secretariats that worked against the clock in order to enjoy the holidays.

When they finally arrived at their destination, the lift opened and revealed two figures busily discussing in front of a mass of cubicles. One of them, a lanky, sandy-haired man wearing thick rectangular frames, noticed them first.

"005," he smiled at Harry and shook his hand. "0014... Welcome back lads." He cheerfully greeted. Ezra Novak was one of the trusted muggle MI6 agents that ran their small but significant branch of British Intelligence.

"Morning, sir." Harry was the one who greeted back while Peder just nodded. They placed the crate in front of them.

"Ah, Commanders Potter and Kvistad, I knew you were the right men to get the job done quickly." Another man with a deep and hoarse baritone exclaimed as he approached and eyed their crate. He was older, dark-skinned and well-built and though he didn't look a day after forty, his salt and pepper hair betrayed him. He reminded Harry pleasantly of Kingsley Shacklebolt, what with the authority that so naturally emanated from him and his usual good spirits. "Brilliant timing, agents, I was positive you'd be here in time for the meeting."

"Head Auror Lazenby, sir." They greeted and saluted him.

Lazenby acknowledged them in return with a salute as well before he said, "Leave the crate here, I'll have another agent bring them up to the evidence room. Follow me, everyone is nearly here. The faster we finish this meeting, the faster we can start our Christmas holidays."

…

All of them were assigned seats on a rectangular table where in the middle stood an ancient-looking projector.

"Very well, agents, let's make this quick." Joanne Bardugo, one of the MI6 heads who was actually a squib announced. Joanne worked directly under M, the highest ranking official in MI6 and their boss. She was perhaps the actual equivalent of Eve Moneypenny from the films and books that Harry forced himself to consume after all that Hermione had rattled into his brain. Joanne wore a maroon red suit, her black bob haircut making her look younger than she actually was. "We don't want Agent Novak here missing his trip to St. Bart's with the missus, you know how grumpy he'll be if he doesn't get his annual tan." She referred to Ezra, which made everyone, even the always serious Peder laugh.

"Anyway, settle down and let's do this." She nodded at her secretary who waved his wand and started the presentation. "For three years now, we've been tracking down different international crime groups both _magical_ and _non-magical_. They all seem to have one common denominator which involves illicit activities such as _smuggling_ of ancient artifacts. Now, we don't have an actual confirmation of what this all means as we have retrieved only a few of them over the years and the Americans have also been on the lookout." The projector flashed out different images of stone relics, just like what Harry and Peder had retrieved, in different shapes and sizes. "We have a genius team of Historians, Archeologists, Forensics, Unspeakables, and anyone we could think of to try and make sense of what the connection of all of these is but we do know one thing: this whole thing leads to some greater purpose that even the different warring crime factions are laying down their arms and bad blood to fully cooperate… I've got Agent Novak here to give us a brief overview and timeline."

"Thanks, Jo." Ezra stood in the middle and started his discussion. "This started around 2007, an MI6 agent was tailing an unregistered truck coming from Bulgaria after a tip-off. The next we knew he was found dead three kilometers northeast of Winchcombe, Gloucestershire. The autopsy didn't reveal anything on the cause of death, he simply _died from fright._ We didn't know what it all meant until we got another report about the Hailes Abbey ruins, close to where his body was found. A section of the ruins had been found corrupted and a clean rectangular cut was taken from one of the arches. The British Ministry of Magic had contacted us by then through Commander Potter who had explained to us how our agent's death was connected to activities by _Neo-Deatheaters_. Fast-forward to four months later and we get a report from the Swedish Ministry of Magic about unusual breaking and entering at a billionaire's home where one of his prized collection pieces, _an ancient rune tablet_ , was stolen. This time the crime was done by local biker crime gang and both non-magical and magical authorities had quickly traced them to a warehouse in Trondheim, Norway where both the rune tablets and Hailes Abbey stone section were found. Three years later and we have only retrieved _seven_ of the possible fifteen artifacts. Each seven were retrieved from different parts of the world."

"I'd like to add that artifact seven was just delivered to us by Commanders Potter and Kvistad an hour ago. This was codenamed _Memphis_ and earlier intelligence reported that _Memphis_ could actually be one of the missing pieces of the _Rosetta stone_." Joanne exchanged glances with Ezra and took over again.

The image being projected now had all seven artifacts lined up together. All were of different sizes, incongruent, ancient, and each of them was carved with writings in several different scripts. Some stones had the same writing on them, of Egyptian Hieroglyphics and Ancient Greek, while the others had different. It all looked like mixed pieces from different jigsaw puzzles.

"Intelligence has been great for this operation. We are able to monitor and track unusual activities that usually lead to retrieval _but_ despite that, we have barely scratched the surface. We have no concrete connection on why these groups, why _anyone_ would want to collect old pieces of stone. I would really like to emphasize that after the holidays, we would have to redouble our efforts and find where all of these are leading to and who _is_ behind all of this…"

The rest of the meeting went on for longer than Harry expected and he couldn't stop himself from glancing at his watch every few minutes. He hoped to leave earlier to deliver his godson Teddy's Christmas present before finally meeting with Hermione Granger again. He hoped she would receive the short letter he wrote to her and sent via owl, letting her know that he would indeed make it this year. Over the year they had written to each other on almost a monthly basis just for the fun of it and to of course make their Christmas plans. To say that Harry was excited was an understatement.

When the meeting finally adjourned, everyone had stood to wish everyone a happy holiday. Harry stood from his seat and winced. He had to bite his tongue in order not to swear in front of his superiors and colleagues. His sprained ankle had started throbbing and every bit of his body still ached. He wasn't able to have his wounds fully treated and he didn't trust himself nor Peder with the necessary healing spells since they were both perfectly rubbish at it. He would have to deal with it somehow as he didn't want to appear before Hermione or his godson a complete and utter mess.

"Potter," Lazenby called out as he was about to leave the room.

"Sir?" He walked towards the Head Auror instead.

"I know you've been approved vacation leave starting today but I'm afraid I'll have to make you one of the on-call Agents." Lazenby spoke.

"Excuse me, sir?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had to keep his temper in check since he didn't want to cause any insubordination.

"I'm sorry, lad, but something's just come up and it has to be one of your lot. You're one of the few qualified agents for the mission. We're still trying to confirm it though and we probably won't have anything until tomorrow or the next." His boss explained quickly. "Anyway, watch out for the owl when it's ready and confirmed. I should leave now or else the missus will send me a howler. Enjoy your holidays!"

Harry watched the Head Auror leave immediately before he joined Peder by one of the refreshment tables.

"What's he want?" Peder asked, holding a steaming mug of tea.

"I'm on call even though I'm supposed to be on bloody vacation leave." Harry received the tea being offered by one of the officers.

"Bad luck, mate. It's not like you have plans though?" Peder said.

"I actually have." Harry curtly replied.

"I thought you stopped attending those parties hosted by your ex's family."

"I did. I made plans with someone."

"You got a girlfriend and didn't bother to mention?" Peder put down his mug and looked at him curiously, a devilish smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"What? _No._ Doesn't have to be my girlfriend." Harry replied, looking a bit bothered and then he changed the subject. "How about you? What are you doing for Christmas?"

"Nothing. I don't celebrate it and I've volunteered for a shift. Lazenby was only too happy to accept my request and so wait for my owl later if something happens." He answered.

"You need to get a bloody life, Scarface." Harry shook his head in dismay, though it didn't surprise him. "Anyway, I gotta go. I'm meeting my godson first. Happy Christmas, mate!" He farewelled, grabbing a large package wrapped in Santa Claus paper and tied up with a bright red ribbon that had been in his locker.

It was past noon when Harry finally managed to emerge into London from work and the HQ. He opened his dark green umbrella in preparation for the December drizzles and trailed the streets of London. He walked the streets with some difficulty due to his busted ankle, but it was a short distance to the underground tube that would take him to the peaceful and posh borough of Islington.

As he entered the blue-line train he began to hear the cheery sound of carolers in the wagon, beating their drums and belting out ' _God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen'_ in traditional Celtic style. He thought it both joyous and bewitching as he leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes, listening. Harry thought of how another year had passed him by as fast as lightning, with the difference that this time he was actually quite happy and looking forward to the future, even if he didn't know what it had in store for him. An image of Hermione laughing, cheeks rosy and curls wild around her face invaded his thoughts. He'd be seeing her again, his friend, the crazy person who made him feel carefree and on-edge all at once… The one person who managed to wedge herself through his barriers and set up shop for herself there. The mere thought of seeing her was exhilarating, and it scared the hell out of him.

In just one year of corresponding with Hermione he'd written her a total of seventeen letters and she had written him about twenty. Harry would be lying if he didn't admit that writing to her this year had been the sort of outlet he never knew he needed. He didn't feel silly writing about his fears and feelings to her, relaying his nightmares and his thoughts of each place of the globe that he visited. Of course there were still things he couldn't share, but it didn't mean that the desire to wasn't there; that inkling to share with her every little detail of who he was. Why he wanted to share all of this with her was beyond him. How could Hermione Granger who most certainly was not a witch bewitch him so?

His thoughts were interrupted by the speaker announcing his stop and Harry rushed out onto the platform with Teddy's gift in hand, his heart beating fast in his chest as the sound of ' _Gloucestershire Wassail'_ floated away as the train departed.

…

Harry walked as fast as he could as the pain in his ankle intensified, it was sheer torture but he was counting on Andromeda Tonks' expert healing to fix things. He was just a few steps away from the doorstep of number 12 Grimmauld Place when the door flew open, a bright-pink haired little wizard running out of it to greet him, a huge smile on his face. Harry smiled as the boy crashed into him, though he couldn't help but wince from the impact.

"I knew you'd come!" Teddy exclaimed with excitement in his voice. "What took you so long, uncle Harry?"

"My boss was keeping me, Ted… The woes of grown-up life, I'm afraid." Teddy tugged on his godfather's hand pulling him inside their heavily warded house.

"Granny's almost finished with luncheon. You'll never guess what Cecilia did before we left school, Uncle Harry. She set fire to professor Longbottom's trousers!" Harry chuckled at Teddy's enthusiasm and his mention of the muggleborn girl who had become his godson's best friend.

" _Ouch_ , poor Neville. What did you all do?"

"Well, after he started jumping about like a frog he rolled around on the grass and one of the Ravenclaws cast an _aguamenti_. Oh, it was _too_ funny!" Harry laughed heartily imagining the scene, making a mental note to schedule a meeting at the pub with his mates once the holidays were over.

Harry followed his godson through the beautiful and polished ceramic tiles of number 12's foyer, with its dark and shiny wood-paneled walls and elegant crystal chandelier, no screeching evil paintings to be heard or dark brooding colors. Instead, at the opposite wall were a series of hooks with coats, jackets, bags and scarves hanging, as well as elegant heels along with leather boots and Teddy's own child footwear strewn about the floor. Harry smiled because more than ever he was certain he had made the right decision, Grimmauld had turned into a beautiful, colorful and light-filled home thanks to Teddy and Andromeda, and it was a lot more than he could have ever accomplished by himself. With that in mind, Harry hung his umbrella and coat and slipped off his boots, following an excited Teddy further inside the house.

Christmas music could be heard floating from the wireless set up in the corner of the living room and a large pine tree decorated in silver, gold and many other different ornaments were set up by the fireplace where stockings were hanging. It was all festive and bright, the scent of pine taking over the living room.

Harry took in the room surrounding him, with its tasteful floral wallpaper perfectly matching in pallette with the curtains, sofa and rug, but still feeling as cozy as any decent English home. He momentarily recalled the time when he learned after the war that Sirius Black's will dictated that his family estate be Harry's upon his death. However, Grimmauld had never been Harry's idea of home. Sure, it brought happy memories of his godfather, but little else. It was around that time that Harry gradually became closer to Andromeda Tonks through their mutual losses and their connection to the then baby Teddy. They slowly became family to one another and Andromeda, despite her serious and overly-poised demeanor proved to be a wonderful and witty friend. It was a no-brainer to Harry that number 12 should belong to her, Andromeda was after all a legitimate member of the Ancient House of Black, a house Harry felt he had no business dealing with after Sirius' passing. Over a decade had passed and his stance was still the same. As much as he'd grown to like Grimmauld, as much as it contained memories of Sirius and had become more livable with the years, his stance still hadn't changed-number 12 Grimmauld Place would never be his home like it was Teddy and Andromeda's, even if Harry technically had his own rooms here, that he rarely used.

Harry's eyes landed on the few picture frames on the mantelpiece, one of the late Nymphadora Tonks as a child with both her parents; another of Tonks with Remus and newborn baby Teddy; and another picture of Andromeda and the late Ted Tonks on their wedding day, faces smiling brightly as they exited the small stone chapel. Harry recalled Andie telling him only a few close friends from their school days and mostly Ted's family had attended. The only member of the Black family who had attended was Sirius, who as Andromeda told Harry, had walked her down the aisle, the other Blacks having shunned their daughter forever for having married a man of lower blood status. The last frame was new and showed Harry, Andromeda and Teddy smiling as the boy prepared to embark on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, taken the past September.

"So, what's it like being a Hufflepuff, Ted?"

"I quite like it, though contrary to popular belief not all Hufflepuffs are good at Herbology. I for one am rubbish at it…" the boy trailed off as he threw himself into the soft cushions of the sofa. "I'm quite liking muggle studies though, and transfiguration… But I suppose that when one is able to practically transform oneself completely it isn't difficult to understand the concept." Harry smiled, impressed as always with Teddy's eloquence and vocabulary that seemed quite promiscuous for his age. He blamed it on Andromeda and her Pureblood society ways, something even she who was a rebel at heart and in life still could not shake.

"And how was your flying lesson? You didn't seem too pleased in your last owl…" Teddy rolled his eyes, the color of his irises changed to match Harry's, just as his hair color, as he always unintentionally did when with his godfather.

"Not too good at that either… I think I prefer my feet planted on the ground, uncle Harry. Sorry to disappoint…"

"You never disappoint, Ted." Harry ruffled the boy's raven hair. "Have you been visiting old Hagrid for me?" Teddy's face lit up as he nodded.

"His biscuits are rock-hard as you said, but he's a softy, isn't he?" Harry chuckled and nodded. "I took Cecilia with me to visit him before I came home… He's running around worried because Buckbeak found himself a mate. He's afraid of losing him."

"And what do you think about that?" Teddy shrugged.

"I think even Hippogriffs should be allowed to love."

"Ever the sensible one, Ted." Harry looked at his eleven-year-old godson with pride. He imagined this is what parents felt about their children and Teddy was just about to him.

"Is that Harry Potter's voice I hear, Edward?" Came the feminine voice from the blue-painted double-doors that lead to the dining room.

"The one and only!" Harry hollered back with a grin.

"You're the one all right, boy, but not at all the only." She said taking in Teddy's visage as she came around wearing an elegant dark-green cashmere sweater, a leather skirt, stockings and ankle boots. Andromeda had always been elegant and was prone to shopping sprees, quite preferring muggle fashion over the stuffy robes reserved for most women her age in the wizarding world. Her dark curls were pinned back, a few silver ones framing her face in a way that was quite attractive.

Andromeda Tonks' resemblance was quite uncannily similar to Bellatrix Lestrange's and at first it had taken Harry aback. Sometimes Andie would turn around and he'd swear it was the vicious witch who was right-hand woman to the Dark Lord. They'd been the bane of Harry's existence until he'd somehow managed to defeat Lord Voldemort at the end of the war. It was years later that Harry learned from Andromeda herself, in a moment of rare vulnerability that she herself had difficulty looking at herself in the mirror at times, hating the fact that she resembled her late older sister too, because Bellatrix had been the very witch who took her only daughter's life.

"Edward, love, go wash up, will you?" She urged, patting her grandson's shoulder. She then turned to Harry with that sharp green-gray gaze of hers, as if scanning him with an x-ray vision he was positive she didn't possess but nevertheless was uncanny. "Uncle Harry will help me in the kitchen in the meantime."

"Yes, Granny…" The boy complained, waving at Harry as he dragged himself dramatically towards the staircase that led up to their rooms.

Andromeda waited until Teddy disappeared before shaking her head and motioning for Harry to follow her.

"What happened this time that you're completely _falling apart_?" She exaggerated, looking at him up and down with a kind of distaste that was uniquely hers, sarcasm rolling off her tongue.

"Classified, sorry…" Andie huffed and opened the cabinet that stored her potions supplies and vials of healing concoctions that she always kept in hand knowing that during almost every visit Harry would be in need of patching up.

"So, it's your first time in England for Christmas in two years, will I be seeing you at the Weasley's?" Harry shook his head as Andromeda helped him out of his bloodied undershirt. The contact of the fabric against the deep gash in his shoulder stung hard, making him wince.

"Not this year I won't…" Andie pursed her lips, eyebrows raising ever so slightly as she nodded, her dark eyes sharp as they bore into his.

"Not because of Weaslette?" Harry rolled his eyes at her nickname for Ginny, one that Andie adopted after hearing her nephew Draco use it once.

"Ginny and I are over, there was no bad blood during easter when I visited…"

"That you know of, kid." Andromeda quipped. "With the ladies daft idiots like you can never really tell."

"Hey!" She laughed at his little show of outrage.

"What about Christmas girl?"

" _Woman."_

"Hmm, yes, Christmas _muggle_ woman." She eyed him knowingly, the corners of her lips curving upwards, before she nearly made Harry faint as she poured curing ointments over his open wound. It stung like crazy as he tried to contain his scream. Andie looked totally unfazed by his reaction and soon Harry felt his shoulder wound become dormant, before it dried and began to close in a matter of seconds. "Will you be seeing her this year?" His chest heaved from the pain still as his brain registered her question.

"After I leave your humble abode…"

"Be careful, and wise Harry, though I'm fairly sure that's not the forte of a Gryffindor…" She trailed off. She motioned for him to lie down on the cool surface of her granite countertop so that she could examine his ankle, which was swollen and different shades of blue and purple by now. She passively moved it in and out, which caused him to wince. Andromeda made a face and Harry knew it wouldn't be such an easy fix. "How bloody long have you been walking on a fucking cracked ankle, Potter?"

"Twenty-four hours maybe?" Andie pursed her lips.

" _Twenty-four hours?!_ The swelling still looks bad, it's a wonder you're still able to walk and I'm no healer so I'm not so sure if there's any further damage… I have this potion, just enough to relieve the pain and hopefully help with the swelling. Drink this…" Before Harry could say a word Andromeda was pushing a vial towards his lips. He opened his mouth and let her pour the contents in as if he were a young child, in a way, indulging her. The potion left a nauseating bitter taste on his tongue and the texture felt as though he'd swallowed grease. Andie ran to the fridge and poured orange juice in a glass before Harry could wretch from disgust. "Have your ankle checked by a professional later and I don't recommend kissing your muggle in the next few hours… Or you might risk her never wanting to kiss you again," Andie teased mercilessly.

"We're friends Andie, I'm not exactly planning to sweep her off her feet and kiss her."

"You're the one who mentioned sweeping, love." She chuckled. "But what is it about this muggle woman that's so special? I mean, you're sacrificing Christmas with your surrogate family for being _alone_ with _her_ on Christmas! Have you thought about that, Harry?" He was silent for a long time. "Because I can't help but think this is much more than _just_ friendship but you're just too thick-headed to acknowledge it. She's a muggle, and therefore so completely removed from your reality as a wizard. Merlin, she most likely thinks magic is just a thing of fairy tales! Is it only friendship? Is she your way of escaping your status as Wizard-Who-Conquered? Or maybe, just maybe, could you be in love?"

"It's not escaping."

"Than what about the other two options?"

"I don't know…"

"I've one last question, Harry…"

"Yes?"

"Lover or _just_ friend, don't you think she deserves to know the _real_ you with all it entails?"

"I'd be breaking the law…" Andromeda shrugged.

"Wouldn't be the first time and we both know it."

Before Harry could say anything else Teddy came running into the kitchen, his hair damp and in his dress clothes, ready for the Weasley Christmas Eve party.

"Don't you look handsome!" Andie complimented as she helped Harry roll down his trousers and performed a cleaning charm over his clothes, making them look and smell freshly laundered. Andie was a pro at Charms and for a long time Harry and Professor McGonagall both had been trying to sign her on as a Hogwarts professor, to replace Filius Flitwick who'd been long planning his retirement, but Andie was hopeless and insisted she was unsure of leaving her boring job at the Ministry of Magic.

"Thank you Granny! Uncle Harry, can we go on a ride on your motorbike? Please, please, please!"

"I thought you didn't like flying?"

"But I like the speed, and it doesn't need to be flying!" Harry and Andie shared a look and she nodded her approval.

"Don't get my boy killed Potter!" She warned and Teddy jumped up and down, cheering, his hair switching from color to color in his show of excitement.

Sometime after the war, Harry had gone through all the things he'd inherited from Sirius to see which of them could still be of use. Surprisingly, Sirius's motorbike was still in pristine condition thanks to Hagrid who had become its caretaker. The bike was one of the few remaining British-made 1970 Royal Enfield Interceptor. When he received it almost a decade ago its vertical twin engines were still very strong and functional but he had made it a hobby over the years to modify it with the help of a Muggleborn mechanic in Brixton. Now the bike looked as good as when it first was bought, and could very well be a contender for one of those garage shows. Harry had been keeping the bike inside Grimmauld Place's small garden shed and would give it a spin from time to time. He had a vague idea that his godson had been wanting to ride on it ever since the summer when Harry had taken him on his first few rides.

"Ready Ted?" He handed a matching junior-sized black helmet to his godson who eagerly placed it on his head. Harry was now garbed in his motor riding gear of leather jacket, boots, and gloves.

"Don't go too fast, Harry. Double check on the charms." Andromeda warned. "And Edward, do be careful! Hold on to your Uncle Harry _especially_ when he speeds up."

"I will, Granny, don't worry!" Teddy exclaimed as he now placed himself behind his godfather who had already started the motorbike.

"He'll be back in one piece!" Harry announced before they sped off. He used a longer route than the last time just so that he could have more good quality time with his godson.

He loved hearing Teddy's scream of delight every time he sped up or made a crazy turn. The ride and the view of passing streets with their townhouses full of fairy-lights and Christmas decorations distracted him for a bit. The current pain in his ankle was nothing compared to the heart-thumping anxiety he felt for later. His short conversation with Andromeda replayed in his head, though he tried his best to concentrate on the ride with his godson. His heart knew there was truth to Andie's words, not the ones that implied he and Hermione were romantic, no those were preposterous, but the ones that meant being one-hundred percent transparent with his friend about who he was and the magic that had always coursed through his veins. As he heard another of Teddy's delight-filled screams he forced himself to shake off the matter for now. _Eyes on the road, Potter_.

Thirty minutes later, Harry was parking his bike in front of number 12. Immediately Andromeda came out to greet them, still wearing her reading glasses, a book in hand. He returned Teddy to her safe and sound as guaranteed, the boy's vestibular sense filled from the ride. Teddy leaped from the motorbike wearing the widest of grins, his knees a bit wobbly and his hair still raven-colored due to Harry's presence. The eleven-year-old began to hyperactively chat with his grandmother, the adrenaline rush still coursing through him.

"I suppose it's time I go, will turn dark soon." He told them, knowing that they were probably late for Mrs. Weasley's Christmas party at the Burrow, he too had best be on his way to Hermione's.

"Thanks for the ride, Uncle Harry, and for my present! Merry Christmas!" Teddy moved back towards him to give him a hug.

"Merry Christmas, Ted. I'll see you again soon." He ruffled his godson's hair lovingly.

"You'll be off to meet with her then, Harry?" Andromeda inquired. Harry noticed a little something in the tone of her voice _. Slytherins..._

"You say it like it's a bad thing, Andie… We're just friends." He moved towards her.

"Just looking out for you and who knows…" She hugged him. "Happy Christmas and may the rest of your holidays be wonderful."

"Thank you and Merry Christmas yourself!" He returned her hug then waved at them one more time before climbing back on his motorbike to start his journey to Hermione's place in Wandsworth… A good thirty minutes away. Why she decided to live in such a _boring_ borough of London was beyond him. But the name was quite clever though…

…

Hermione was carrying a box of Christmas decorations to the living room when she heard a loud rumbling noise outside her front door. Mind you, living on Putney Bridge road across from the park meant she got quite some noise from cars all day, but this particular _ridiculously loud_ noise was something of a higher order. She put the box down and proceeded to satisfy her curiosity. The sound, it turned out, was coming from a black Harley Davidson-like motorbike that parked in front of her house as she opened her bright blue door. Its rider had a man's build and wore an admittedly cool leather jacket. It looked quite sexy if she were being honest but that wasn't the point. Whoever that person was, he was creating a ruckus with that machine, and in front of her home of all bloody places. Silence was a precious commodity for writers these days and she would defend her grounds with all she had. Hermione marched out annoyed, ready to reprimand the rider for unlawfully parking.

"Oi! You're trespassing!" She shout out but the engine was too loud. "Turn that _bloody_ thing off!"

Hermione approached the rider just as he cut off the engine. She stopped midway as the rider proceeded to take his helmet off. She gazed at him as though everything happened in slow motion, watching something in slow motion as he unmasked himself. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat as she took in the familiar face of Harry James Potter. And then she felt herself stupidly swoon.

Harry's hair looked a bit longer than last time, it was layered and stuck all over the place and he had a bit of stubble on his face. His whole get up with the leather jacket, boots, and motorbike made him look like a grunge/indie Rockstar. He smiled and waved while she remained stuck on the ground unable to illicit a response after being so captivated by the way he looked over there. If only there was some light breeze to complete the effect. She suddenly felt like one of those lovesick fools she used to scoff at.

"Hermione," She hadn't heard his voice in over a year and there was a husky quality to it that shot right through her. She moved closer to him. Hermione wanted to look away from him but bit her lip instead, hoping he wouldn't be able to read her reaction. She was fully resigned to the fact that he wasn't coming but damn it, here he was. Harry was _actually_ here and with a goddamn motorbike that made him look like the stereotypical bad boy that fathers didn't want their daughters to date.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"What?" She looked at him. He looked tired, like he hadn't been sleeping well.

"You look a bit flustered...anything wrong?" He placed a gloved hand on her cheek.

"Nothing… just that a tiny part of me thought you wouldn't come." She averted her gaze.

"Didn't you get my last letter?" He asked, confused.

"I did. I'm just being silly, aren't I?" She shook her head and gave him a soft smile. "So, a motorbike, huh? Does it shoot out lasers, _Mr. Bond_?" She gestured at it, teasing.

He winked. "Wouldn't you like to know, _Moneypenny."_ Slowly, he got himself out with great difficulty. The potions from a while ago wasn't enough and bits of pain wracked his body. He hoped she didn't notice.

"I like your bike…it's very...cool...is this a Harley Davidson?" She admired the bike. It was black and very sleek. "Haven't really seen these around."

"It's a Royal Enfield. I inherited this old model from my godfather and made a few modifications." He proudly said.

"Picked up girls with this?" She asked.

"Maybe a few." He smirked.

"You know what they usually say about boys with flashy toys?" She lined the handlebars with her index finger.

"What?" He eyed her.

"That they're _compensating_ for _something_ ," She teased.

"I'm not compensating for anything." He scoffed.

"Really?" She pressed.

"Do you want proof?" His voice had gone huskier and she didn't realise how she'd unknowingly moved closer to him again until she felt the heat that emanated from him.

"Um…" She lost her train of thoughts and started chewing on her lower lips.

Harry swallowed dry at the vision of her, sharp brown eyes gazing directly into his, her light-brown curls still as shiny, beautiful and wild as he remembered. The sky was darkening around them and the air getting cooler. Hermione was wearing a pair of jeans that looked a bit worn, but hugged her legs in all the right places and a pretty ivory-colored sweater that didn't seem warm enough for all this time standing outside. There was nothing much to the way she dressed, Hermione screamed cozy and normal, but in that moment Harry thought her the most alluring creature in existence, and he hated himself for it. He felt an inexplicable urge to kiss her, ardently, though he knew better not to ruin their friendship.

Merlin, what was going on with him? Harry had to step away to regain a bit of his sanity but managed to stumble on his sprained ankle instead. He crumbled to the ground, clutched on the bad ankle, and then yelped as his body screamed in pain.

"Harry!" Hermione immediately kneeled down. "Are you alright? Let's get you in!" She slung her arm around his and helped him up. Slowly she led him into the warmth of her house.

"Stay still," Hermione commanded as she placed a pillow under his sprained ankle. She opened a fresh roll of elastic bandage and began to snugly wrap the affected area making sure there weren't any bad folds or creases and just enough for compression. She then placed an ice pack on top then handed him a glass of water and a tablet. "Take this. It's naproxen sodium, should help with the swelling and pain."

He took it without any protest. "Thanks."

Hermione frowned in that way of hers, eyebrows furrowed as she looked at him.

"Field work accident?" Harry shrugged. "How was Guyana?"

"Hot and stuffy… It is December you know, summer there. And it rains a lot." Harry's eyes wandered away from her and took in the decor of her living room. The black iron-cast fireplace was lit and casting its golden warmth throughout the room. Hermione's sofa, which he sat upon was a cream color and heaven to sit on, piles of colorful pillows and cushions decorating it, no doubt collected from her travels. She had floor to ceiling shelves painted a very faint blue that were overflowing with books, picture frames and memorabilia and framed pictures and paintings on the walls that breathed life and color into the room. A large Moroccan rug covered the sofa area, below it were wooden floorboards reminiscent of the time her house was first built, over a century ago… But for London that was normal.

"Are those baskets over there from Indonesia?" Hermione turned to look and smiled.

"They are! Have you been?" Harry nodded, leaning back into the cushions. "I was there five years ago on holiday with Fabian. He and that horrible snake send their love by the way…" Harry chuckled at the memory of their time in Paris with her oddball cousin, he even missed it.

"Likewise. Anyway, I like your house, it looks like you…" Hermione knit her brows slightly confused at his comment. She liked her house, but never thought of it as particularly reflecting who she was as a person. "It's warm and though you have all these books and travel things that would otherwise make me think you're _all that_ , it's cozy and unassuming… It's just like you."

"Thank you for saying I'm cozy and unassuming Harry. Let me just go over there and cry my eyes out because that's just what a woman wants to hear. Our granny's are supposed to be cozy, a warm pair of socks are supposed to be cozy; a nice heavy duvet or a teddy bear perhaps… No one wants _bloody_ cozy when it comes to women."

"You mean in a romantic sense?"

"And sexual." Harry chuckled at her annoyance. "You just reiterated how much I need a makeover, Fabian's been pestering me about it for years…"

"I don't think you need a makeover, I think you need to find yourself a decent mirror. I've told you this before, you're beautiful Hermione…" He looked upwards to the ceiling as he said this, his cheeks slightly flushing as he wasn't usually this forward unless a snog or a shag were in order. As he looked away Harry missed the fact that Hermione stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, although his words were quite touching. "You haven't got any Christmas decorations up, what's wrong with you? It's Christmas Eve!"

Hermione was thankful for the change of subject as she risked pouncing on Harry and kissing him silly, with no means for him to escape what with his busted ankle.

"I was hoping you'd help me…" She trailed off. "It's not the same doing these things alone."

"Well, do you have a tree?" Hermione went out of the room for a moment and returned with a large box that contained a large plastic Christmas tree that was almost two meters in height. She assembled it with ease though he offered to help and placed it by the front window, to the side of the fireplace.

"Now, the tree is up, so the first thing is to put on the strings of lights. I'll do it considering you're a cripple until the meds fully kick in." Harry chuckled. "Meanwhile, untangle these if you don't mind." She dropped a box of stringed lights on his lap. "They're for outside."

"Yes ma'am." Hermione popped in some Christmas music in her record player and they worked in companionable silence for at least twenty minutes. Without Hermione noticing, Harry pulled out his wand and muttered a spell for the lights to untangle, when he was already at his wit's end. He hid it back in his jacket pocket. "I'm finished and also no longer such a cripple. I think I might go set these up outside."

"Oh, I'll help you." Harry waved her off.

"No, don't worry. It'll just be a minute, finish the pretty ribbons." Hermione watched as he limped his way outside again and went back to work. Just one Frank Sinatra Christmas tune passed before he returned, which felt awfully soon to her. "Come see the lights, Moneypenny." She followed him out and saw his handiwork. He'd put lights around the large window and around the door. To Hermione's surprise there was even a beautiful natural wreath on her door that she didn't remember getting. It was tastefully decorated with red and glittery gold ribbons and little branches with holly, making it contrast beautifully against the Lapis-blue color of her door. "Do you like it?"

Hermione nodded, hugging him, which nearly made him lose his balance. He couldn't help but gently pull her face up by the chin, their eyes meeting. He tucked a few stray curls behind her ear and admired the shimmering of unshed tears in her eyes.

"It's our third Christmas Eve together… Do you realize?" She whispered.

"Only this time I'll hopefully stay long enough for the presents." She smiled brightly. "How far do you live from the river?"

"Haha, I know how to swim Harry, you won't be able to kill me that easily." He chuckled at her humor.

"Could we go for a walk? Maybe get some things from Sainsbury's before it closes on our way back?"

"Are you up for it?" She asked him, pointing at his ankle, Harry nodded. "Let me get my coat and purse." She rushed inside and in less than two minutes was locking her front door. Hermione slipped on a cream-colored coat that was beautiful and elegant and somehow brought out her hair in the night. He missed the red coat he'd come to be familiar with in Vienna and later Paris, but this one made her look almost like a movie character. For safe measure he buried his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

They walked side by side on the path along Wandsworth park gates, passing the rows of terraced houses that were identical in build and style to Hermione's. The cars passing on the street and the golden glow cast upon them by the light posts were lovely.

And then, suddenly it began to rain. Just a few droplets here and there, that soon gradually multiplied. Harry found himself transfiguring the keys of his motorbike that were in his pocket into one of those compact umbrellas.

"Oh, no…" He heard her say, checking her purse for an umbrella. Harry pulled his out, opening it to her surprise. It was bright red, such as the one Hermione used the first day they met in that crowded café in Austria.

"What was it you said back in Vienna? You'd think that because you're English you'd carry an umbrella always…"

"Well, I'm a terrible Englishwoman then because I _always_ forget them." With one hand Harry pulled her closer to him by the waist so the umbrella could protect her as well. He muttered a charm under his breath for no raindrops to get her wet. His arm traveled upwards and wrapped around her shoulders. It was awfully intimate for the two of them to be like this, but it was actually quite _nice._ "Be careful _James_ , neighbors might get the wrong idea…" She teased, although she did take a slight bit of advantage herself by wrapping an arm around his backside for comfort.

"Not all wrong ideas are bad…" He mused as they finally reached the river Thames, Putney bridge that lent its name to Hermione's street crossing over it. There were light decorations on the lamp posts along the river and very few people walked along, most people more concerned with last minute shopping and getting home for family celebrations. "Speaking of, let's do that game again…"

"What game?"

"You know, the one we did in that tram in Vienna," before Hermione had time to either agree or disagree Harry began, "have you ever kept a secret that you thought might kill you, just because there was one person you felt you needed to tell it to?" Hermione stopped walking and looked at him, the rain still falling around them.

"I already know you're a secret agent, Harry." He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Just answer my question, _Moneypenny._ "

If Hermione was perfectly honest with herself, there was a secret. It was one that she'd been keeping since perhaps Vienna, a secret that at the same time she didn't want to keep and didn't want to be feeling. But she did, it was impossibly beyond her control, had been since day one, and the control-freak that she was abhorred it.

"I do have a secret, and it is difficult to keep, but I fear not keeping it would be much worse. Maybe I'm a bit of a coward…"

"What, did you kill someone in a fit of bossy-pants nerves?" He suddenly teased and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

" _No, Harry_ …" She chided, her eyes piercing straight into his. "Though I kind of want to kill you now." He laughed, whole-heartedly. "My turn now. Do you have a licence to kill?" Harry looked at her with that mesmerizing Emerald gaze of his and Hermione thought her legs were spaghetti for a moment. There was a dark shadow that took over his eyes and his face, his shoulders tensed.

"I never wanted to…" He responded, and that was all she needed to hear. "Labour or Conservative?" Hermione laughed soundly at his next one.

"Oh, I'm a Labour girl all the way. Totally and completely…"

"Hmm, pegged you wrong then…" She raised an eyebrow at him, questioningly. "You have a posh name, studied at Oxford _and_ had a movie star for a grandmother." Hermione shrugged.

"I guess I'm full of surprises…" She felt the weather getting even colder and snuggled into his side. Again Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders. It was the sweetest of sensations, especially as he became acutely aware of her delicious vanilla scent. "Tits or bottoms?" Hermione asked making Harry almost choke on his own saliva as he heard her question, cheeks going a bright shade of red. He looked at Hermione up and down while she just laughed in that loud and boisterous way of hers that to him was pure gorgeous. Winking at her he responded:

"Tits, all the way."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Yours seem quite nice…" Hermione smacked him on the chest and he chuckled. "Beatles or Spice Girls?" Hermione smiled at his question.

"Though I'm partial to Baby Spice, I much prefer the Beatles. ' _Blackbird'_ is my favorite song. What's yours?"

"I actually quite like Simon and Garfunkel and Cat Stevens… My aunt gave me a box with some of my mum's old things after I moved out, she had some records inside. It's always changing but I think my favorite is ' _Bridge Over Troubled Water'._ "

" _Oh_ , that's a beautiful one, if sad…"

"I-I went through a very dark period of time in my late teens, when I heard this song it felt… It's as though it described my feelings entirely. I never before had such a connection to music." Harry looked at the large storefront with 'Sainsbury' in bright orange on the other side of the street, and then asked her: "So, what's on the menu tonight? Hopefully no English pudding, I'm probably the only English person who hates it…"

"No English pudding!" She said with a smile, "Which is a relief because I also despise it. I'm not such a brilliant cook though…"

"Ah, then allow _me_ , Miss Granger."

…

Hermione's kitchen was a symphony of clanging pots and pans. Harry had purposely made the area off limits to Hermione as he was using magic to help things speed up. He also didn't want to move around too much as he felt his ankle go tender again after their walk. After he placed the lemon-rosemary chicken in the oven and set the timer, he couldn't help but go back to his conversation with Andromeda. He knew that Hermione deserved to know the truth about him. After all, they'd been getting to know each other over the course of the year via letters and this was the third Christmas they were spending together. Whatever their future would be like, whether their friendship would be something deeper or _more_ there should always be complete honesty. He knew that secrets were always going to be a part of him, especially with his career choice but _this_ , the fact that he was a wizard was something he really couldn't hide anymore. Harry didn't want to pretend around her anymore. In the early parts of his younger life he'd been denied the truth about his history and it only gave him more conviction about finally telling her but… There would always be a ' _but'_.

There would always be a hesitancy to tell her the truth about himself because first of all, Hermione _was_ a muggle and the laws governing Magical Britain weren't exactly up to date. Harry never got the chance to look it up properly but he had a vague idea from Arthur Weasley and from his muggleborn colleagues that it wouldn't be easy on him or Hermione. The legal issues weren't his main concern however. In truth, his troubles were mainly his own anxiety over the matter. Harry had thought long and hard of the 'what ifs'. He feared the aftermath of finally telling Hermione the truth. He feared that she might not take it very well and that she would be totally opposed to being involved with him once she found out he was a Wizard. Harry remembered that small dread he felt in Vienna when he was supposed to erase her memories. He knew that if she really took it all badly he would have to _obliviate_ her and be gone from her life completely. He didn't want that. In such a short period of time Hermione Granger had become far too important to him. The heartbreak of losing her friendship would just be as painful and as traumatizing as when he had lost people during the war. Harry took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. No matter what happened, Hermione was his friend, hell, she had rapidly become one of his closest friends, he knew that post-poning the truth would only be torture to him and also knew for a fact that if it took him too long, then she might not forgive him for his mistrust. Harry finally decided it was time to tell her.

Harry's attention went back to the task of cooking their Christmas dinner. He realized that he'd forgotten to add a bit more pepper to one of the pots on the stove. He held out his right hand and the pepper mill swiftly zoomed towards his hand. He was about to start adding the seasoning in when he heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, and with it all air depart his lungs. His shoulders tensed and his heart quickened knowing that he'd been caught.

…

Hermione was in her living room, unable to continue reading the book she held, though it had been on her to-read list for a long time and had everything to be delightful and engrossing to read. She was admittedly a bit annoyed when Harry kicked her out of her own kitchen. How _dare_ he do that! There was simply nothing else to do with all the decorations up the tree, the table set with Hermione's finest special occasion dining and silverware. The act of cooking was originally supposed to take her mind away from overanalyzing everything, like these little feelings and _wants_ that had been taking over her mind and senses since Harry's arrival.

In all honesty, a small part of her brain panicked when she came to the realization that this Christmas setting was much more personal than their last two. This was her _home_. Harry was in _her_ kitchen, earlier he'd been sprawled on _her_ sofa, remarking on all her books, talking about the places they'd both seen and ventured to. Everything about this Christmas was Hermione simply opening herself up to him, deep down hoping that it would finally convince him to share a bit of himself too. She'd always known there was something mysterious to him but never really wanted to say it out loud. There had always been a strong feeling on her side that Harry was holding back on something, and she wasn't a fool, it had nothing to do with the whole _Secret Agent_ business. It was something else and she felt like that bit of awkwardness between them would continue to be there if she didn't do something about it. Hermione didn't want full-on force him, though she wanted to at least _try_. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to read another word from the book, she closed it, dropping it next to her on the sofa. She took a deep breath in and marched herself towards the kitchen from where suddenly noises were audible. Whatever Harry was doing in there sounded busy and hopefully it didn't mean a disaster.

When Hermione finally entered, Harry's back was to her. He was busy looking at the oven. A loud clang caught her attention and she glanced toward the stove area where the pans were simmering and bubbling something that smelled good. A wooden spoon stirred by itself on one of them, the contents of the pan looking like gravy. On the counter was something that looked like dessert and on top of it was a floating mesh strainer that sifted confectioner's sugar on top of it.

 _Wait_. Hermione blinked her eyes several times, then looked at the stove and then at the dessert across the kitchen from it. Suddenly, she was aware of her entire kitchen and how everything seemed to be moving on its own. It felt like something out of Mary Poppins. She looked at Harry who held out his hand where a pepper mill swooped in. Her eyes grew wider and she felt herself gasp. She felt herself freeze, never having seen anything like this outside of a movie screen. The pepper mill fell to the floor loudly and Harry finally turned around, looking mortified, his Emerald-eyes wide and looking every bit like a deer caught in the headlights. She looked around her kitchen again as everything continued to move on its own.

"Hermione," Harry stepped forward and she automatically stepped backward. He flinched at her reaction. "I-I can explain…"

"Bloody hell, Harry, am I dreaming? Am I on heavy drugs?" She finally spoke. "What the ruddy hell is going on, Harry? Why the fuck is a wooden spoon stirring gravy on its own? Why did that pepper mill _float_ towards _you_? Why do I feel like I'm in _Mary Poppins_ or _Matilda_ or whatever fucking movie? Is this some kind of prank? Don't tell me you're going to burst into a song number!" She felt her thoughts swirl as she began to pace the kitchen floors. She waited for him to burst out laughing and say this was a joke because her brain was currently failing to give her any logical explanations.

He sighed as he moved closer towards her. "I was going to tell you, Hermione."

"Tell me what, Harry?" She glanced at the pan on the stove as it started sautéing onions while a floating bottle of olive oil drizzled itself over it. It was unbelievable, everything was completely and utterly unbelievable.

"Remember the secret I mentioned earlier?" She looked back at him again and then nodded. Harry came closer, taking hold of both her shoulders, their eyes locking.

"You mustn't tell a soul about what I'm about to tell you…" He paused to give another deep breath before looking at her straight in the eye and saying:

"Hermione, I'm a _wizard_."


	5. England part 2

**_England part 2_ **

December 2010

_ Hermione, I’m a wizard. _

  
  


She continued to look at him and waited for his cue to laugh and tell her that this was some elaborate prank. She had suddenly become deaf to everything as those words kept playing in her mind on loop, trying to make sense of it. There was no other logical explanation for whatever was happening right now. She roamed her eyes around her kitchen and blinked several times. Things were still moving on their own. The  _ fucking _ frying pan was washing itself on the sink! 

  
  


“Hermione?” She brought her attention back to Harry. He had lowered his hands and he seemed to have mimicked the way she was unconsciously fidgeting with her fingers. She remained speechless. Several questions and dozens of things swirled in her head that she actually felt a bit faint. She averted away from him who only looked concerned. Suddenly, the room felt stifling. She did what she had to do and left the kitchen. She made her way out of the backyard and breathed in the fresh winter air. 

  
  


She continued to concentrate on her breathing and wondered if she should consider getting into meditation. Her nerves are frazzled and honestly, she wished she had cigarette right now even though she wasn’t a smoker. She had always been logical and she had always believed in things as long as there was some scientific proof but what she had just seen and what he had just told her completely blew her beliefs and thought out of proportion. Things like that  _ only _ happened in fiction, in books and in films. How could it possibly be  _ real _ ? Her cerebral cortex was still in the process of registering it. She knew that she could’ve been hallucinating or maybe she’s just plain mental. Could Harry be someone imaginary? Did she actually meet him or is she suffering from some mental condition.

No. She shook her head. She tried to understand things again. Harry’s  _ real _ . Even her cousin Fabian had met him last year. She’d just panicked. Who wouldn’t? It was something not to be taken lightly.

  
  


“Okay, Hermione. Go back inside. Let him explain.” She muttered to herself once she felt like she’d calmed down. She readied herself. She wasn’t going to jump to conclusions and so she got back inside her house to hear him out.

  
  


She encountered him at her living room as he was pacing. He stopped when he saw her. 

  
  


“Hermione?” He repeated.

  
  


“I need you to explain.” She finally said. 

  
  


“Alright,” He sounded relieved. “But I think you should take a seat and maybe have a drink.” He led her to one of the sofas before he waved his hand. A second later, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses began to float in front of them. Her eyes widened and she had to steady herself despite being seated already. The whole magic think still unnerved her. She distracted herself and tried to read the label:  _ Ogden’s Old Firewhisky _ . What the bleeding hell is  _ firewhisky _ ?

  
  


“It’s wizarding alcohol.” He answered. She must’ve said it out loud. He poured out a bit for her inside the glass and handed it out. Thinking that it’s probably like regular whiskey, she swallowed the content immediately. It immediately seared her throat and burned down to her insides. She felt like she could actually breathe out fire.

  
  


“Th-that was strong!” She coughed and gave him the glass back. She looked at him as he drank it like it was nothing.

  
  


“You get used to it.” Was his only reply. “More?” She shook her head fervently.

He drank a bit more before he made the bottle and glasses  _ disappear _ . She gaped, she didn’t think she could still be more gobsmacked. She wished she took more from that firewhisky.

  
  


She cleared her throat and then looked at him seriously. “S-so...magic? It’s real?” 

  
  


He nodded then began, “There’s a magical community and we’re everywhere.”

  
  


“So there are a lot of you here in Britain?” 

  
  


“Yeah, a few thousand.”

  
  


“How does it work exactly?” She pressed on with the questions.

  
  


“We have a Ministry and all that. Schools etc. Just like muggle society but of course we have to do things discreetly as it’s the law. I’m not even supposed to tell you about our world since you’re muggle and all–” He continued. 

  
  


“Excuse me but what’s a muggle?” She cut in.

  
  


“Non-magical folks.” He answered.

  
  


“I see...so I’m a muggle then?” She said, her tone still quite not convinced.

  
  


“Hermione…” He moved closer. She was careful not to react just so that he wouldn’t take things wrongly. She was honestly still going to give him a chance to explain and tell her things. 

“I’ve been planning to tell you everything. I’ve never really wanted to hide it despite all the laws I’d be breaking. Getting to know you through the letters over the last year gave me more reasons in telling you. I still very much want to keep this unorthodox tradition for as long as we both wanted to but I felt that lying to you all the time wouldn’t make things last long. I’ve been going over on how to tell you but it’s just plain bad luck that you’ve walked into it by accident. I was a bit reckless.” He said and looked down. She could see the turbulent emotions going through him. She brought her hand to his cheek and moved her head up so that they’re now eye to eye.

  
  


“Tell me everything.” She said softly and calmly despite the anxiety invading her entirety. Harry looked at her and nodded. He brought his left hand and swiped it over the messy bangs that covered his forehead. With his index finger, he pointed at the lightning bolt scar. He gave a huge intake of breath before he started his tale…

  
  


“I got this scar when my parents were killed by a Dark Wizard…”

...

  
  


Harry looked at her and knew that Hermione was still trying to absorb everything he’d told her. He thought Hermione might balk but her face drew complete attention and curiosity the entire time. The feeling of lightness eased through him after he shared his history with her, but there was still something else he needed to do. 

  
  


"Hermione?" He spoke after a long silence, as they sat there facing each other on her sofa. “I want to show you something…” He stood up and Hermione silently followed him, not daring to say a word. She found it impossible to formulate any coherent words… So many questions floated in her mind, and also so many doubts and wonders. It was overwhelming and all just completely and utterly impossible. Yet, looking into Harry’s eyes as she had been, her heart and intuition knew him to be speaking the truth.

  
  


Harry brought her to the small foyer of her house and helped her into her coat and scarf. Hermione slipped on her winter boots and a wool hat. Harry took both her hands and held them to his chest, “I want to take you somewhere but only with your permission.”

  
  


“On your motorbike?” She replied weakly, still quite gobsmacked by his revelations. He shook his head in amusement. 

  
  


“I’m afraid it’s a bit far and I’ll have to take you there via magic, I hope you don’t mind.” Hermione’s eyes widened and he watched as her skin paled considerably.

  
  


“You don’t mean flying on  _ broomsticks _ do you?” Harry chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that infuriatingly charming way.

  
  


“Hmm, not this time, sorry. I can take you some other time if you want.” He winked at her and Hermione’s eyes widened even more if it was even possible.

  
  


“Oh,  _ hell no _ ! Absolutely  _ no _ broomsticks! I can barely handle aeroplanes!” Harry snickered as he zipped up his leather jacket.

  
  


“We’ll have to do something about your fear of heights, Granger. We can’t have a world-renowned journalist/writer/adventurer afraid of flying,” he teased. “But seriously, don’t worry, we’re  _ apparating _ there… It’s quicker.” Harry moved closer and let go of her hands, holding out his arm instead. “Will you come with me?”

  
  


Hermione looked at him and hesitated for a moment. She wondered, not for the first time this evening whether she was going out of her mind. Still, she figured Harry deserved the benefit of the doubt. She linked her arm in his. “I’ll go, Potter, but if I die I swear I’ll come back to  _ fucking  _ haunt you.” Harry’s eyes twinkled with mirth at her rare use of a  _ bad _ word.

  
  


“Don’t let go of me for anything, Moneypenny, and fair warning, apparating is not exactly pleasant but I guarantee you it’ll take us there easier.” He said. “Do you trust me?”

  
  


Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Well, we’ve gotten this far, Harry… My God, I’m crazy...”

  
  


“Alright, crazy lady, let’s go.”

  
  


Suddenly, everything went black for Hermione. She didn’t know exactly what was happening as she felt herself being pressed in all directions. There was an uncomfortable pressure on her skull and chest, the sort of thing one might feel when strapped and riding a roller coaster. Air went through her eardrums and she felt unable to breathe well. She held on to Harry tightly as she felt her stomach go into knots and nausea kick in. Just as Hermione was trying to brace for something longer, her body began to feel light and she felt her feet suddenly touch the ground. She let go of Harry accidentally when she felt her center of gravity shift. He was quick enough to catch her and pull her back up before she fell on the snow covered road. The nausea was still there, though to her relief it didn’t to dissipate.

  
  


“You alright?” Hermione heard him say as the pressure disappeared from her ears. She opened her eyes to them standing on a narrow cobblestone road covered with pristine white snow, in fact, snow was falling from the sky in a way that she hadn’t seen since Vienna. Beyond stood a line of streetlights glowing and it looked to her like the very center of a typical quaint English village. Looking around she spotted many cottages along the road, colorful Christmas lights and wreaths decorating them.

  
  


“Where are we?” She asked Harry, who was already a few steps ahead. She shivered, it had only registered to her that the coat she was wearing wasn’t appropriate enough for this kind of cold. Harry didn’t miss her reaction and so he took out a wooden stick she was fairly certain was a magic wand. Hermione followed it with her eyes as Harry moved closer to her and waved it over them, muttering something she recognized as being Latin. Instantly, she felt warm.

  
  


He led her to the center of the village where Hermione could see an obelisk. 

  
  


“What does it look like to you?” He asked. She examined the monument carefully. There were names engraved on it.

  
  


“It looks like a war memorial, my granddad’s village had something similar...” She finally replied. Harry tapped his magic wand on the obelisk.

  
  


“This is my wand, in case you’re wondering, I don’t always need it though.” He explained, noticing the way she stared at it. Hermione nodded at his explanation and was then distracted by the obelisk suddenly morphing into something else, the statue of a family to be exact. The family consisted of a man whose glasses and untidy hair were uncannily similar to Harry’s and standing next to him a woman with long hair and a kind, beautiful face, a sleeping baby in her arms.

  
  


“The man looks like you,” She noted.

  
  


“Come on,” He went ahead again. She immediately followed him as he led her into the kissing gate of an ancient-looking graveyard. Nearby was a church where they could faintly hear a choir singing. She didn’t dare say anything as they continued to pass by numerous snow-covered tombstones. It took a while before they finally stopped at a wide headstone which had three lines engraved. She stepped closer to read the first two:

  
  


_ James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981 _

_ Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981 _

  
  


Instantly, she made the connection with the memorial at the village center. “That was you? The baby on that statue?” She whispered. Harry now kneeled in front of the headstone and created a wreath of flowers using his wand, placing it in the middle of his parents’ tombstone.

  
  


“We’re at Godric’s Hollow…” He said quietly. “I was born here.”

  
  


“Oh, Harry…” She kneeled down beside him and took his hand in hers. She felt him tighten the hold, his thumb caressing the back of her hand gently.

  
  


“They were murdered here, Hermione, by Voldemort, that Dark Wizard I told you about. I come here to visit them from time to time and to remind myself. I know this is a bit depressing for the holidays but I wanted you to know this...  _ Merlin _ , I want you to know _ everything _ about me, especially about my past. My past will always be a part of me, it will always haunt me. It’s one of the reasons why I do the things that I do. I wasn’t even 18 when I had to fight in a war. Hermione, I’ve already outlived my parents, they died so young... When you’ve seen the face of true evil, you just know that it doesn’t easily vanish--it  _ fucking _ lingers. I know I can’t stop all the bad things in the world but I know I can at least prevent a lot of it. Some would say that risking my life seems ungrateful to my parents who died for me but I don’t think of it that way. I believe that to truly honour them and their sacrifice I should at least contribute into making the world a better place.” 

  
  


Hermione listened to him as he poured out his heart, their hands still laced together. Harry always seemed so confident, so collected and so straightforward, a man of few words, but today he completely lowered his defenses for her, allowing Hermione to see the vulnerable Harry and all that was in his heart. Out of everything that happened tonight it was the thing that most astounded and moved her. Harry was one of a kind, and it had nothing to do with him being a wizard. Harry had a depth and sensitivity that Hermione felt matched her own, despite how different they were. 

  
  


“I’ve told you everything, and I’ve shown you this... Hermione, I need to  _ know _ .” He let go of her hand and rubbed his hands over his face and then ran them through his hair, making it even messier. I need to know if you’ll accept me in your life. I can’t go on every year pretending to be half of who I am. You deserve the truth but  _ I _ also deserve to know whether you’ll accept  _ who _ and  _ what _ I am.” He continued. 

  
  


Her mind swirled and Hermione knew she was close to overanalyzing again. She looked at him. This entire magic thing was something straight out of a fantasy book and never in her life would she have thought it was all real. Yet, here they stood together and it was more than proven to her. She looked at him, truly looked at him. She saw fear and anxiety in his eyes, but also a longing that to her was like a punch in the gut. She turned her gaze to the snowy ground, biting her lower lip in apprehension.

  
  


“What happens if I can’t do  _ this _ ? If I say no...” It was hard but she  _ had _ to ask.

  
  


“Well, honestly, it would break my heart… And then I would have no choice. For your sake and mine I would have to erase all your memories of me and our time together.” His voice went lower and turned hollow.

  
  


“ _ All of it? _ ” Her voice slightly shook.

  
  


“All of it.”

  
  


Hermione shook her head. It was silly and stupid to even think about forgetting this man beside her, this man who had against all odds become one of her greatest friends, a man she held strong feelings for. Some of her best memories over the past few years involved Harry and they had only seen each other three times in person. Hermione wasn’t always good with relationships, she barely had a group of close friends. She knew that people like Harry didn’t often appear in her life. He was one of those people who were and always would be worth it.

  
  


Again Hermione thought of how everything was really a shock for her. From the moment she entered the kitchen with all those pots, spoons and knives moving around on their own, to the magic demonstrations Harry had performed and his own account of his life. Any other person in their right mind would’ve called the police! Hermione didn’t want to lie and pretend that everything that he said and showed her made sense, but Harry brought her  _ here _ . This was no ordinary place, this was probably the most personal place to him. Harry was offering Hermione himself, and since the day she met him it was all Hermione desired. This was a gesture that meant the world to her because she knew how difficult it was and how vulnerable it made him. Harry had trusted Hermione enough with the truth and it made her feel something strong, fiery, and utterly  _ irresistible _ for him.

  
  


“Hermione?” Anxiety laced Harry’s voice as he stood and offered her his hand to get up. 

  
  


There was something in the way he looked at her, with a tinge of hope and doubt on his face that pulled at her heartstrings. Hermione felt her heart beat impossibly fast in her chest and her hands begin to sweat. She slowly placed her palm on his cheek, gently caressing him with her thumb. She watched as his breath hitched and Harry closed his eyes upon feeling her warm caress, almost melting into her touch. Hermione came even closer to him and went on the tip of her toes just so she could meet his height. She kissed him on the cheek then, the sheer electricity of the contact between her lips and his skin pulsing through her body. They both trembled from the sensation. Hermione brought her feet back on level ground and let her hands tug on the lapels of his jacket. Harry’s bright green eyes opened wide, gazing at her hazily, until she watched those Emerald orbs stare at her lips and lean slowly in.

  
  


Hermione was never the kind of woman to beat around the bush, so she pulled Harry towards her by that leather jacket and crashed her lips against his, wrapping her arms around his neck and losing herself to her desire for this wonderful man. Harry kissed her with the same ardour, his lips smooth and tasting of sugar and cinnamon. His hand cupped her cheek while the other trailed its way inside her coat, feeling its way along her breast and sensuously sliding around her waist. Delicious goosebumps arose on her skin and Hermione pulled him even closer to her, burying her fingers through his messy raven locks, basking in the fact that she’d finally did it. Harry’s tongue was needy and demanding, constantly challenging hers for the upperhand. His hand slid back up and he brushed his thumb over her breast before digging his fingers into her curls, his mouth leaving hers so that he could kiss a hot, wet trail down her neck. Hermione thought she might melt into him, her entire being in flames and wanting ever-more from him. Their kiss was sweet and full of desire for one another, a desire they’d been downplaying since the day they met.

  
  


This was unlike any kiss Harry ever had… It wasn’t the lust-filled kind of kisses he shared with Cho Chang in hidden corners of Hogwarts school; nor was it the wet and eager-type kisses he shared with Ginny that would lead them straight to bed, but that never quite _got there_ in terms of perfection. Not that Harry wouldn’t mind going straight to bed with Hermione, _Merlin_ , he couldn’t think of anything he’d want more. But it was more than that. Kissing Hermione felt like filling a hole of _something_ that had been missing since _Merlin_ _knew when_ … He hadn’t even noticed it was missing until now. Her kiss felt like coming home. It felt like a _future_ , it felt like he was burning inside and might explode soon, but the flames didn’t hurt one bit. Harry wanted more of her delicious and soft lips, he wanted more of her tongue… He wanted more of her vanilla scent and her softness. He wanted her out of that blasted coat and he wanted her in his arms _always_ , even though it was impossible. He wanted her boldness and bluntness and sexiness and cozyness… _all of it_. Harry wanted Hermione Granger, pure and simple.

  
  


Neither one of them were sure of what was really happening. They had no need for explanations right then, there was no need to think of complications or repercussions. They were free, they could just let things be, let themselves  _ feel _ , and taste and savour. And how utterly wonderful this was, being together.

  
  


When their oxygen was no longer enough, their lips parted and Harry leaned his forehead against hers, trying to regain his barings and find his composure. All of the sudden he was aware again of the cold weather that surrounded them and the beautiful sound of a choir singing  _ Adeste Fideles _ coming from the old stone church.

  
  


He finally opened his eyes and those emerald greens bore into Hermione’s very soul. It was static electricity that shot through her. She felt her face heat up with the way he looked at her, prompting her to nearly forget what she was meant to say. Her cheeks were a bright pink and it wasn’t due to the cold. Harry smiled and her heart skipped a beat, the utter fool that she was. It was just the two of them and nothing else quite mattered. Hermione’s curls were all over the place and her lips parted ever-so-slightly on their own accord; Harry’s fingers brushed against her cheek as he tucked her curls behind her ear. She couldn’t take her eyes away from his, or her mind away from the reality of what they had just done. When Hermione bit that bottom lip of hers Harry thought he might combust from the sheer desire to bite her lip himself… He was about to go in for another round when she leaned back and away from his lips. His eyes met with the amber-colored sharpness of her own. She  _ knew _ what he was about to do again and smirked, the devilish and infuriating woman.

  
  


“Thank you, for telling me your story, for showing me what’s in here…” She said, laying her hand over his heart. “Harry Potter, my favorite secret agent ever, I wish nothing more than to be a part of your life. If anything, you being magical is just the  _ bloody _ cherry on top.” She let out a laugh which to him made her look so alive and beautiful... He could hardly believe it. “I don’t care if you have a wand, or if you fly on broomsticks. I mean, I  _ do _ care, but it’s not something that will ever make me want you less in my life. You’re my friend and I like you, I-I don’t  _ just _ like you either, I also  _ want _ you.” 

  
  


Hermione groaned and cursed herself internally for delivering such a terrible stumble of words, hoping that to him her answer would be just as clear as it was to her. Harry laughed, his eyes shining with a mixture of tears, relief and mirth. His eyes gazed upwards toward the sky and his heart continued to beat fast because of her… Hermione Granger might be the bloody death of him. She brushed a bit of his overgrown bangs from his eyes.

  
  


“Better forget it,  _ James _ , you’re stuck with little old me…” Harry cupped both her cheeks and shook his head, smiling like a fool. He was about to kiss that smile off her face when his stomach rumbled and her eyes widened, her smile turning into a fit of laughter. “Time to eat  _ magical _ food now, Harry.  _ Pop _ us back to my place!”

  
  


“ _ Merlin _ , you’re bossy.”

  
  


“I’m bossy? Harry, your stomach just said it all.”

  
  


…

  
  


Hermione watched in childlike wonder as with a swish and a wave of his wand Harry had all their food floating in the air from the kitchen, all of it still miraculously warm and fresh. Their small Christmas feast smelled delicious and Hermione eagerly sat on her favorite chair. Noticing the two candlesticks that were still unlit she jumped back off the chair with a huff.

  
  


“Let me get some matches…” She said. Before she could say ‘light’ Harry cheekily lit the candles with another wave of his wand. Hermione rolled her eyes at his showing off and sat back down. A bit more wand waving and soon soft gold and lavender lights began to dance above their table, looking almost like tiny fairies. Hermione couldn’t shake just how romantic all of this was turning out to be. It made her nervous and fear began to blossom within... Hermione tried to ignore it, even if ignoring wasn’t such a hard thing to do when she looked at Harry. She watched him as he’d pour them wine, delight in the food and smile so freely while chit-chatting about how the gravy was a special recipe he stole from his former mother-in-law, the best cook in the planet and how he was positive she’d love their dessert later on. Harry was different, more carefree, more relaxed, he seemed younger too, and it added even more to this day’s whirlwind of surprises.

  
  


“You’re awfully quiet. It’s odd…” He finally told her, to which Hermione rolled her eyes at him as she took a sip of the Cabernet.

  
  


“Just taking it all in…” He hummed and nodded. “How’s your ankle?”

  
  


“Now that you reminded me, it’s kind of hurting, throbbing as  _ fuck _ …” Hermione snickered at his dramatics and once again rolled her eyes. He smiled at her reaction. “I read your book you know, the one you dedicated to me. I thought it’d be terrible but it was actually quite nice, and surprisingly thrilling.” Hermione’s eyebrows arched, her eyes shining with humor and interest.

  
  


“What did you think of Zana and Marko?”

  
  


“So  _ fucking _ hot. Is _ that  _ how you like  _ it _ ?” Hermione choked and nearly spit out her wine as he asked her. Harry, incorrigible as he was, laughed soundly at Hermione’s reaction. Her mind went straight to the more steamy passages of her book which told of a brief but torrid affair between two musicians whose lives were turned upside down with the Bosnian war in the 1990s. “I mean, that scene under the bridge…” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and her cheeks and neck turned a flaming red, “I could think of nothing else all day…”

  
  


“I’ve never shagged under a bridge but I don’t think I’d oppose...” Hermione finally responded, haughtily. “And it was  _ meant _ to be hot, you prat! That’s what  _ sells _ !”

  
  


“Is it how you like it though?” Hermione rolled her eyes, turning her head away in her embarrassment.

  
  


“Might be.” Harry smiled victoriously and drank the rest of his own wine, his eyes never leaving hers.

  
  


“I wouldn’t mind shagging under a bridge. Shouldn’t be much different from shagging on the beach, just a bit more private perhaps, less space I imagine… Makes way for more interesting  _ stuff. _ ” Hermione rolled her eyes.

  
  


“I’m not shagging you Harry. Don’t think too highly of yourself.” Harry snickered.

  
  


“Wouldn’t dare to,  _ Moneypenny. _ ” He winked at her.

  
  


“Where’s my dessert?” His eyes lit up at her question, though it abruptly put an end to the fun that was making her turn red with the topic of sex. It was a pleasant little page he’d stolen from her cousin Fabian’s own little book.

  
  


“Ah, you’ll love it. Desserts are kind of my specialty.” Harry went back to the kitchen, waving his wand so that their leftovers, used plates and cutlery floated back into the kitchen to clean themselves.

  
  


When Harry returned he came with a tray full of the most delectable-looking apple strudels, as well as bowls, spoons and a tub of vanilla ice cream they’d bought, a surprisingly mutual favorite flavor.

  
  


“Oh, you  _ didn’t _ .” Hermione’s brown eyes sparkled and then her eyes met with his and he noticed it was because they were unshed tears. “God, I wanted these so bad I was prepared to fly again to Vienna…”

  
  


“Go on, ladies first.” He urged her to grab a filling and he couldn’t help but roll his own eyes when she piled eighty-percent of them on her plate… The sweet tooth of this woman. “... or baby dragons.” She ignored his little quip.

  
  


Harry watched as she took her first bite and her eyes closed in delight, the tip of her tongue cleaning the powdered sugar from her lips. There was still some at the corner of her lips. Harry was reminded of their time in Paris and their visit to the Portuguese pastry shop next door to her cousin’s flat. He was able to recall just how much he’d wanted to clean that powdered sugar off her lips with a kiss or the soft graze of his finger… Harry leaned forward and boldly cupped her cheek. Hermione’s eyes widened and then she held her breath as he surprised her by kissing the powdered sugar off the corner of her mouth, his lips brushing against hers. Hermione pulled him by his sweater collar before he could move away and kissed him with almost all the fire she had inside. Their noses brushed against one another and with a softer, more delicate kiss they parted. Her eyes were dark with desire and Harry was certain his were too.

  
  


“So, Moneypenny, how are my  _ strudels _ ?” He watched as her eyes landed on his mouth.

  
  


“ _ Delicious. _ ”

  
  


“Brilliant.”

…

  
  


It was just after midnight when Harry followed Hermione up the stairs for the first time. The hall was painted white and had delicately ornate crown-mouldings and wooden details that Harry could tell were cherished details of this one hundred-something old house. The hall boasted a small but quite lovely stain-glass chandelier that reflected pinks, greens and blues onto the surfaces of the walls when Hermione turned it on. These walls, just like her living area downstairs were covered with paintings, travel memorabilia and framed pictures of different sizes. Harry’s eyes took in the many images of Hermione through the years. He recognized her posing with her cousin Fabian in a few, while in others she was with a couple who Harry assumed were her parents, she was quite the spitting-image of her mother. It was when Hermione pointed him to the door of her office and his bedroom for the night that Harry came across the black and white picture that instantly became his favorite. In it Hermione looked straight into the camera, laughing beautifully, her eyes shining. Her front teeth were a little too big just as she and Fabian had described to him in Paris, and freckles powdered the bridge of her nose. Hermione’s wild curls that Harry loved were just the same, perhaps a bit bushier and she wore a crown of flowers with ribbons on her head.

  
  


“How old were you here?” He asked, unable to hide his tender smile, tracing one of the ribbons with his finger.

  
  


“Nine years old, I think. That photo was taken at my aunt Calliope’s third wedding, you know, Fabian’s mum.” Harry nodded. “My dad took it with my granddad’s old camera, I actually have it somewhere in my office… I was laughing because Fabian set one of the bridesmaid’s dresses on fire with a candlestick, she ran around in circles and then jumped into the pond.” Hermione laughed with a twinkle in her eyes. “Fabian did it but the idea was mine,”

  
  


“I always knew you had a bit of evil in you.” Hermione tucked a curl behind her own ear.

  
  


“I did it because I caught her kissing my aunt’s husband that very evening… As you can imagine that marriage didn’t last too long. It was quite a shame, aunt Calla never quite got over it, he was the only one she ever truly liked.”

  
  


“Got quite what she deserved then… I can’t help but wonder what you had in store for the groom though…” Hermione snickered, her eyes meeting his with an unmistakable sadness.

  
  


“ _ Oh _ , my cousin managed to do something equally distasteful, don’t worry.” Harry watched as she bit her bottom lip nervously before heading for a tall blue glass-paned cabinet that held towels and bed linens to retrieve the things he would need for the night.

  
  


“Who was it?” Harry asked her suddenly, which prompted Hermione to immediately turn around and look at him funny, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Who was it who broke your heart just like that arse broke your aunt’s?”

  
  


Hermione was shocked at his question for a moment and even hesitated before answering him, that sadness still there in her eyes.

  
  


“A parade of arses to be honest… Not that I’ve been with that many anyway, I mean, relationship-wise. Contrary to popular belief I  _ do _ have an active sex life. I’m not  _ that _ repulsive...”

  
  


“For me it’s only ever been Ginny, in terms of girlfriend and relationships… Of course I’m no hermit either.” Hermione laughed and elbowed him, making him welp in faux-pain.

  
  


“You don’t fool me, Harry Potter. I bet you’ve got a long list of lovers around the world…”

  
  


“Your imagination is a scary place, Moneypenny.” Hermione laughed, knowing her thoughts were the exact truth, judging by his traitorous smile.

  
  


“ _ Right… _ ” She finally opened the door to her office and motioned for him to go in first. “The bath is the door to your left and my room is that door across the hall… In case you need anything.”

  
  


“A quick shag maybe?” She hit him again.

  
  


“You may be magical Harry Potter but you’re nothing special.” He chuckled, as he always did when successfully getting to her. Harry glanced at the vintage clock sitting on her desk that showed it was half-past midnight, and just like that he tried to muster his Gryffindor courage. Opening his entire life to people, even to Hermione who he came to trust implicitly didn’t come easy.

  
  


“Moneypenny, I know we agreed to spend Christmas just the two of us, but in the spirit of _ actually _ being in Britain this year, there’s someone I’m due to visit tomorrow. I told you about her, my aunt Petunia…”

  
  


“ _ Oh. _ ” Was Hermione’s response as she set his bath towel on the guest bed she had set up for him in her office. Harry rolled his eyes at her typical monosyllabic response, it always drove him crazy.

  
  


“Come on, Hermione, just say whatever is floating around in that giant brain of yours already.” She sighed heavily and turned to look at him.

  
  


“I didn’t know you were both on speaking terms… Didn’t she treat you like rubbish all your life?” Harry shut his eyes and scrunched up his nose in a show of pain before nodding, as he leaned back against her dark wooden desk.

  
  


“It’s complicated…”

  
  


“I don’t know Harry, sounds awfully like Stockholm’s syndrome…” She replied. Harry, catching on to her teasing rolled up a random newspaper page abandoned over her desk and threw the ball at her. She glared at him as it painlessly hit her arm and rolled her eyes.

  
  


“Things got better after my uncle died.”

  
  


“ _ Ah _ , so auntie dearest decided to be nice after her toad of a husband wasn’t around anymore?” He could tell she was serious now, and annoyed in a way he never imagined she would be. “I don’t understand, to be honest. From all that you’ve told me about your childhood and life with them, they were extremely shitty people with you Harry, cruel even. What kind of warm-blooded creature is capable of treating an innocent child so badly? I don’t even know her personally and I despise her already…”

  
  


“ _ Hermione… _ ” He tried to cut in, but it was no use interrupting her passionate monologues, especially when she paced around the room as she was doing.

  
  


“I despise her because of how much I like and cherish  _ you _ , Harry. I don’t know if you catch my drift. I can’t fathom why she was so cruel to you, you’re her nephew for crying out loud!”

  
  


“Come with me.” Hermione’s head immediately shot up as he said it, her eyes going wide. “I’d feel much better about visiting my aunt for Christmas brunch if you came along with me, and I want you to see the place I grew up.  _ Please… _ ” Hermione sighed deeply and massaged her temple. Quite honestly, she would rather do far more pleasant things on Christmas day than visiting Harry’s abusive aunt in Surrey… Like catching up on her reading or snogging Harry silly for instance. Hermione’s eyes locked with his hoping he’d change his mind. To her utter regret, his eyes managed to convey just how much he wanted to visit his aunt and just how much he also wanted Hermione to accompany him. They were the very definition of puppy-dog, and Hermione detested him for it.

  
  


Nevertheless, seeing all that anticipation in his eyes made Hermione remember that it didn’t matter the amount of years that passed. Abused children, in one way or another, would always have an irrational need to be accepted and one day loved by their abuser, even if all history existed to prove it probably never would happen. This wasn’t Harry Potter the confident Secret agent or victorious wizard before her, silently pleading, but the skinny little boy he once described to her as being, running off and hiding within the roots of a park tree, hoping to find safety and a home.

  
  


Harry somehow read right through her and before Hermione could properly find words he was smiling.

  
  


“I knew you’d come around to it.”

  
  


“If things get too messed up I’ll drag you away from there, you crazy prat.” Her lips were set in a frown and her arms crossed over her chest making her look absolutely lovely to him.

  
  


“So you’re my savior now?” Hermione rolled her eyes at his poking fun at her and huffed. Within seconds however, she relaxed her shoulders and entire stance. A smile spread across her face as she saw how relieved and happy Harry became, a twinkle in his eyes.

  
  


“I may be personally delusional in  _ that _ regard, yes.” Harry laughed as he fell onto the bed.

  
  


“You’re absolutely brilliant, Moneypenny.” She threw his pillow at him and turned around to leave the room.

  
  


“Tell me something I don’t know,  _ James _ .” Before Hermione shut the bedroom door behind her she seemed to remember something and popped her head back in. “Merry Christmas by the way…”

  
  


“Not even a Christmas goodnight kiss?” Harry smiled mischievously, wiggling his eyebrows at her as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a toned chest that both wowed and disconcerted her, not that she would ever admit it.

  
  


“ _ NO! _ ” Hermione said loudly, glaring at him before almost slamming the door behind her. Harry’s smile went from ear to ear as he recalled the reddening of her cheeks, and all the other delicious and utterly unexpected kisses they’d exchanged all through the evening.

  
  


…

  
  


Number 4 Privet Drive was quite different from the house of his childhood these days, in fact, quite different even from the way it was during Harry’s last visit a year ago. For one, his aunt had taken to gardening a lot more since Uncle Vernon’s passing and the front lawn now boasted a lovely pear tree, though the winter rendered it leafless and what Harry knew were a miscellanea of pots and flower planters. The front door was no longer brown like all of the houses on the street, but instead was painted a fire-engine red and was currently decorated with a Christmas wreath with a ribbon that read ‘ _ Happy Christmas’ _ in golden glitter.

  
  


Harry was acutely aware of Hermione’s tension beside him and Harry couldn’t tell to what extent she was nervous about meeting his aunt the ‘childhood abuser’ or if it was due to meeting his family  _ period _ . Either way, it was a large step to take in such a short period of friendship, especially now that they were stepping onto this strange and wobbly tightrope which marked the limits between the friendship part and that  _ other _ part which should-not-be-named, but that represented so much  _ more _ .

  
  


Harry and Hermione shared a look and he took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. She smoothed her coat and the elegant black skirt she wore under it and nodded for him to go ahead and ring the doorbell. It was 10 on the dot.

  
  


Harry raised his finger to ring the buzzer, but the door flew open before he got the chance. There stood aunt Petunia dressed in what could be considered her personal version of the ‘nines’, in a plaid skirt with stockings underneath, a pristine white shirt and a deep-red cardigan over it. There was a lovely floral pin attached to her cardigan and teardrop-shaped pearl earrings hung from her ears. Aunt Petunia’s hair had gone completely gray and to be honest it quite suited her as she wore them in perfectly coiffed curls that were probably inspired by 1950s hairstyles.

  
  


“Hello, aunt Petunia…” Harry greeted with a shy smile, waving at her. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought a friend.” Petunia’s hazel-eyes scanned Hermione practically from head to toe.

  
  


“Haven’t I seen you on BBC channel 4?” Hermione looked at her in surprise before nodding.

  
  


“I present documentaries for them, yes…” Aunt Petunia simply hummed at Hermione before motioning for them to come inside.

  
  


They instantly passed the staircase and Hermione’s eyes cleverly darted towards the cupboard door. She gasped discreetly upon seeing it, especially as she realized just how small and cramped it was. Her eyes met with Harry’s and she took his hand, squeezing it. He nodded, confirming her suspicions and shrugged. 

  
  


Their small exchange didn’t go unnoticed by Petunia Dursley who frowned deeply as she realized what it was all about. Her nephew’s ‘friend’ knew about it then, all the dreadful things she had done to Harry along with Vernon and Dudley during those years, how they always mistreated and excluded him, as if he was a piece of rubbish instead of an actual member of their family. She felt the familiar knotting and somersaulting of her stomach, as shame lodged in.

  
  


“ _ Boy _ , grab the teacups won’t you? The good ones…” Harry nodded and before he set out to do as told Hermione whispered to him with a humor-filled smile:

  
  


“ _ Is your aunt’s fashion icon The Queen? _ ” Harry snickered and chuckled silently before Hermione turned forward and followed Petunia into the sitting area where a large tree was set up and looking quite nice, several perfectly-wrapped packages laid underneath.

  
  


“Forgive me, I didn’t catch your name…” Petunia trailed off, motioning for Hermione to sit on the sofa while she sat on her favorite floral armchair.

  
  


“Hermione Granger. It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am.” Petunia set her lips in an impossibly thin line, her eyes sharp like a hawk’s.

  
  


“I shall have to excuse the fact that my nephew brought someone home without consulting me, although the fact that it is a  _ somewoman _ makes it quite forgivable, you see, it is the first time.” Petunia actually smiled, as strange-looking as it was, when Harry came in carrying a tray with her prized German porcelain set, a teapot smelling of Earl Grey, sugar cubes and a small pitcher of warmed milk. Harry set the tray on the coffee table and took his seat on the sofa, a respectable arm’s length distance from Hermione, which quite made her want to laugh.

  
  


“Uh, how’s Dudley, aunt Pet?” She glared at him for the use of the nickname, though deep down she didn’t mind it. It was what Harry called her as a baby, when he couldn’t fully say her name.

  
  


“He’s spending Christmas in Wales this year with his wife’s family. Did you know I’ll be a granny in the spring?” Harry looked at her with genuine surprise and shook his head.

  
  


“Congratulations are in order then…” Hermione complimented as Petunia busied herself pouring each of their cups like any  _ proper _ host. Petunia and Harry immediately shared a look that Hermione noticed wasn’t quite the happy-filled look one would have expected, instead, it was one of worry.

  
  


“I suppose…” Petunia finally answered with a smile as weak as Harry’s tea. “ _ Boy!” _ She exclaimed a bit too loudly, “there’s a gift for you under the tree.”

  
  


“ _ Oh _ , brilliant then, because I also have something to give you.” He said enthusiastically, much more at least than Hermione or anyone who knew Harry would expect. It was a welcome change of subject, as Harry could feel the tension in his aunt’s visage. He was sensitive enough to feel his aunt’s fear of welcoming someone new into the family, not because she didn’t want to be a grandmother, as anything coming from her Dudders had her love and affection, but because of the risk of that new someone being  _ unique _ like Harry and his late mother. Harry would never be able to comprehend his aunt’s hatred of magic but he understood her unspoken fears somehow.

  
  


Aunt Petunia set down her teacup on its saucer and rose from her armchair, scanning the gifts under the tree before her eyes settled on a rather large box with green wrapping-paper that had a pattern of candy canes and a large red bow. She handed it to Harry, mumbling out a barely intelligible  _ ‘Merry Christmas’ _ . The older woman glanced momentarily at Hermione, her cheeks blushing upon catching sight of Hermione’s genuinely surprised reaction.

  
  


“I hope you like it.” She said, bashfully looking away as Harry began to unwrap it, careful to not rip the paper open in the way he knew his aunt hated because it littered the floor. “They’re awfully hard to come by these days, it’s just like one my father had…”

  
  


The large box revealed a beautiful portable record-player that could be closed into a case that resembled a small leather travel luggage or briefcase. Harry found that he was actually pleased with it.

  
  


“A vitrola! How lovely.” Hermione said with a smile. “Harry, do you still have those records you mentioned?” He paused for a moment before nodding, his eyes locking with Petunia’s, her hands clasped together over her lap, anxious about his reaction and not quite used to being so nice to him, although it was something they’d been slowly working on the past decade. This year, after her scare with breast cancer and convinced death would finally come for her she decided to turn things around in her life. So for once Petunia really put effort into pleasing her nephew.

  
  


“It’s wonderful, thank you…” Even Petunia couldn’t hide just how happy she was for giving her nephew something he actually liked for once, as much as she tried to hide her feelings by straightening her skirt and busying herself with the tea servicing. Harry retrieved a small gift bag from under the tree that he’d miraculously slipped there upon arrival and handed it to his aunt.

  
  


“I remembered you lost your favorite necklace  _ that time _ and when I saw these I just knew they should be yours.” Petunia opened the square black-velveted box from inside the bag and carefully opened it. When her eyes fell upon the beautiful long string of pearls her eyes suddenly glistened. Petunia was completely silent for a long time as she ran her fingers through the exquisite beads, only they weren’t beads but genuine. She had never before gotten genuine pearls before, they simply were something her Vernon could never afford, not that he would have the sensitivity to know she would very much like them anyway.

  
  


“Do you want to try them on?” Harry asked. Aunt Petunia nodded and got up, heading for the powder room to put them on in front of the mirror.

  
  


“You gave her  _ pearls _ ?” Hermione whispered into his ear, astonished.

  
  


“It was that or a gift card to Marks & Spencer.” He whispered back, “I know it’s weird but we’ve been making an effort… She’s all the family I have.” Hermione looked at Harry with fondness, linking her arm with his and moving closer, resting her head against his shoulder.

  
  


When Petunia returned from the bathroom she had the pearl necklace around her neck in three loops. It complemented her style of clothing very well. Though she wasn’t one to smile, Harry could tell from the way his aunt played with the beads that she liked it.

  
  


“Oh, they suit you perfectly, Mrs. Dursley.” Hermione complimented, as she ended the last of her tea.

  
  


Petunia wasn’t blind to the affection her nephew seemed to have for the young woman. It was in the way Harry looked at her and in the arms-length distance they’d put between them which seemed awfully deliberate. It was as though they wished Petunia would get the opposite idea of what they truly were to one another, not lovers, just friends. But even Petunia had been young once and felt the overwhelming feelings of love and attraction. She too had once sat in a living room similar to this one in front of her parents, introducing them to a boyfriend who  _ shouldn’t yet be a boyfriend. _ Butterflies in her stomach and all sorts of painfully insecure thoughts floating in her mind. Petunia’s short-lived romance with Peter Elliot seemed a lifetime away, like it was rather the pages of a good heart-wrenching novel rather than real life. No, Petunia’s real life had been Vernon Dursley and it had been with him that she shared all those years of her life.

  
  


“So, how long have the two of you been together?” She asked, keeping a straight face while internally amused by their utterly disconcerted expressions.

  
  


“Oh, no, Mrs. Dursley, we’re just friends. We met in Vienna a few years ago and have been in contact since.”

  
  


“Vienna, now?” Harry nodded. Petunia raised her brow curiously, a smile curving the edges of her rose-painted lips. “Oh, like that lovely movie ‘Before Sunrise’, have you seen it?” She noticed how a blush crept onto Hermione’s cheek and internally rejoiced. Of course she’d watched it and new exactly what Petunia was implying. “I wonder, have you lot ever stumbled upon each other in Paris?” Harry’s face lit up with surprise.

  
  


“Last Christmas actually. How’d you know?” He asked her, so innocently Hermione wished to smack him. Petunia shrugged, her eyes never leaving Hermione’s, who in turn wished she could simply disappear out of embarrassment.

  
  


“It’s how the movies go… What’s your next stop, Greece?”

  
  


“No clue, actually. We’ll figure it out eventually…” Harry replied, completely oblivious. Aunt Petunia’s response was a simple and far too self-satisfied hum.

  
  


“ _ Boy _ , it’s ten already. Help me set up the table for our brunch.” As if on automatic Harry promptly got up from his cozy seat on the sofa and signalled for Hermione to stay put before following his aunt into the kitchen yet again.

  
  


“What do you need taken, Aunt Pet?”

  
  


“Harry,” she began, which immediately sparked his attention as his aunt rarely called him by his name, “what kind of witch works making television documentaries for the BBC? And why haven’t I seen her sporting a wand?” She motioned to the onr in the back of his jeans pocket. As his aunt crossed her arms over her chest Harry knew she wasn’t trying to be funny… or pleasant, not that she ever was anyway.

  
  


“That’s because she’s not a witch, Aunt Petunia. She’s a muggle just like you.” Petunia inhaled deeply, a frown setting on her face, her eyebrows furrowing out of worry. “I told her recently of what I am and  _ all _ that happened.”

  
  


“ _ All _ of it?” She asked and Harry responded with a nod. Petunia’s thoughts went back to when they first arrived nearly an hour ago, how Hermione seemed particularly troubled by the cupboard under the stairs. Petunia felt the somersaulting of guilt and unpleasantness in her stomach and she didn’t like it one bit. She’d learned with time that keeping young boys in cupboards under the stairs was neither a good or particularly normal thing to do, in fact, it was abominable. Despite it all, there was nothing Petunia could do about it and she didn’t have the power to go back in time. “In that case, Harry, be careful, for your sake and hers.” Petunia’s thoughts once again this evening went back to her first love, Peter Elliot. “Love is a complicated thing and magic has a terrible way of dividing people.”

  
  


“We’re just friends, Aunt Petunia.” She looked at him in that no-nonsense way of hers and rolled her eyes which to Harry was quite comical, he even laughed.

  
  


“You keep fooling yourself like that, boy. The both of you.” She gave him a large tray full of delicious pastries, sweets and custards, “to the table with these and then come back to fetch some decent tea. Frankly,  _ Boy _ ! Thirty-years old and still can’t make a decent pot.” Harry went back into the dining room laughing and Hermione who’d been curiously scanning the family pictures on the mantle looked at him questioningly.

  
  


A few minutes later they were all seated around the dining room table while Aunt Petunia recited a small prayer, they were never a very religious family, but it was Christmas, so it should be done. Once Amens were echoed around the table Aunt Petunia motioned for them to serve themselves. Both Harry and Hermione appreciated her generous little banquet as Aunt Petunia had definitely outdone herself this year, almost as if she’d been guessing her nephew would bring someone special along.

  
  


“So, miss Hermione Granger, do tell me a bit about yourself.” Petunia requested as she poured a splash of milk into each of their teas. Hermione refrained from making a bit of a face, as unlike just about all British people she hated milk in her tea. When she looked up her eyes met with Harry’s who had a knowing smile on his face. She instantly recalled their time in Paris last year and how he accused her of being ‘un-English’ for it.

  
  


“Well, what is there to say… I’m thirty-one, only daughter of a duo of dentists, I’ve written three novels, other than that two strictly academic books… I’m Oxford educated, which Harry says makes me snobby, only I’m not.” She faux-pinched him and he chuckled in return, “And I’ve been producing and presenting documentaries both for the BBC and independently for years now. I don’t just present though, there’s a lot of research and preparation that comes before filming a programme and I’m primarily in charge of that.”

  
  


“Quite impressive.” Aunt Petunia complimented and Harry could tell that she was being genuine. He’d always known his aunt to be quite fond of her documentaries, it was a way to make up for not following through with higher education, his aunt’s way to quench a bit of her thirst for knowledge, something he learned she had much in common with his late mother.

  
  


“Hermione’s granny was a famous movie star, Aunt Pet.” Petunia’s eyes widened in surprise as she looked on to Hermione for confirmation. “Tell her…”

  
  


“Uh, yes. My maternal grandmother was Cynthia Bell… She was very famous up until the seventies.”

  
  


“I’m familiar with her films, yes. My mother Violet was a seamstress and loved copying her dress styles that we’d see on the magazines…”

  
  


“That’s brilliant, she must have been very good at her craft to be able to reproduce entire outfits just by looking at a picture…” Hermione complimented and Petunia beamed.

  
  


“My mother was probably the best in London. She had a tiny atelier in Kensington overlooking the gardens which she and father managed to rent at a miraculously underpriced rate. Obviously we lived in Tottenham, which you know, was everything but glamorous… My mother made mine and my sister Lily’s wedding gowns, I still have mine hanging in the closet.”

  
  


Hermione shot one look in Harry’s direction and caught him with eyes glistening with tears. She figured his aunt had never before talked to him about his grandparents. Hermione took his hand under the table and squeezed it reassuringly. In turn, Harry laced their fingers together, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

  
  


…

  
  


It was almost nightfall when they left Aunt Petunia’s, a pyrex full of delicious leftovers to take home. Harry had shrunk it and stored the dish in the pocket of his coat. They walked past the identical row of houses in Privet Drive and onto the main street. Colorful Christmas lights were hung on each house, some more enthusiastically decorated than others. As they continued on their way, quietly, they reached a large park and soon Hermione halted at his side. They had walked probably three or four blocks already.

  
  


“Is this the park, Harry? With the tree you would hide in?” Harry nodded.

  
  


“It’s gone now, apparently the roots were rotten and they cut it down around the time I was fourteen.”

  
  


“Seeing your aunt it’s hard to imagine her so abusive, not that I’m doubting you or anything…”

  
  


“I know what you mean. A lot has changed in the last ten years… I don’t know if it was my uncle’s dying or her aging and rethinking things. I think she’s learned to despise magic less… It’s why she never was fond of me, I’ll never fully comprehend why.”

  
  


They sat hand in hand on a wooden park bench and Harry seemed lost in his thoughts for a good amount of time. It was barely four in the afternoon, but the winter season was already covering everything with darkness.

  
  


"What are you thinking about?"

  
  


"Do you have a fear of heights?" He asked. 

  
  


She took a second before answering."Uhm, I’m fine with aeroplanes or Ferris wheels, the latter gives me a bit of anxiety though.” Harry snickered. She was most definitely afraid of heights.

  
  


"Splendid then," He gave her a grin and she knew he was up to no good. "It’s Christmas Hermione, let’s go see the lights." He stood up and pulled her along with him, retrieving his wand from inside his jacket pocket. “Accio broom!” Hermione’s expression changed to one of horror. 

  
  


"Oh, no, no, no. Not bloody likely! As if it’s not bad enough you’re a wizard now you have to ride a stereotypical _ fucking _ broomstick!" Harry’s smile was wide and full of mischief.

  
  


"Wait… it's coming!" He answered excitedly. She wondered for just a second what  _ it _ was until she heard a  _ whooshing  _ sound. A second later a shiny, polished broom swerved and stopped in front of them. She blinked several times as Harry took the broom and leaned it against himself. 

  
  


"Where did that come from?" She moved closer and inspected. She made out the words written on its wooden handle:  _ Firebolt.  _ It looked a bit old but very well-maintained. She wasn't knowledgeable with different types of woods but she knew it was made of the highest quality. 

  
  


She looked back at Harry. "Please, please tell me this isn’t why you asked me if I’m afraid of heights." 

  
  


He broke into a grin again, which made her feel warmer than she already was but she shook her head. 

  
  


"No! No  _ bloody _ way!” Being on an aeroplane was alright because she's ridden on them so many times and the Ferris wheel was frightful enough but at least her feet were on an even surface. But a  _ broom _ ? And not just any ordinary broom, a  _ flying  _ broom! Hermione imagined how it would be like up in the air with her legs dangerously dangling. A tiny slip could easily cause a freefall. She felt the anxiety creep inside her. There was no way she’d be  _ flying _ on a broom. 

  
  


"Come on, Hermione. It'll be fun. I promise." He persuaded.

  
  


"It's not safe! I could fall to my death. No one wants to see splattered human remains on Christmas no less!" She argued dramatically, eliciting a laugh from him.

  
  


"It's safe. I swear you'll be alright. I've done this countless of times. We'll start slow. I'm a good flyer. Did you know I was the youngest Quidditch player in Hogwarts in over a century? I got countless offers to play professionally, I’m more than good." Harry countered far too smugly for comfort at the last bits. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, knowing that as a Leo he couldn't for the life of him avoid bragging. He let go of the broom and let it hover at a reasonable height. 

"What's  _ Quidditch? _ " She still cannot fathom riding on a broom. 

  
  


"The best sport in the Wizarding World. I'll tell you about it some other time." He answered. "So, what do you say, Hermione? Come fly with me?" There was a glint in his eyes. His question made her thoughts wander to the lovely Frank Sinatra song and she wondered if he'd referenced it. 

  
  


"I don't know, Harry…"

  
  


"Come on, Moneypenny!  _ Please? _ " He implored making good use of those beautiful green eyes of his. Hermione felt her resolve falter and she knew she was a goner, she couldn't say no. Harry had cast his magic spell on her already and Hermione was wise enough to know that she was doomed.

  
  


"Alright, but if I die I’ll come back to haunt you!" Harry smiled at her in that way that nearly made her melt. She barely registered it as he took hold of his broom. He jumped on it and it hovered higher. He showed her a couple of fast moves. 

  
  


"You bloody braggart!" She muttered as he moved towards her.

  
  


"Just showing you a few skills." He winked. "Come on, it'll be just like riding a motorbike only it's going up instead of straight forward, and no loud deafening motor sounds."

  
  


"I don't enjoy riding motorbikes…" She bit her lip and shook her head as she finally rode on the broom behind him.

  
  


“You seemed to like mine just fine.”

  
  


“It wasn’t the motorbike I liked, you git.” Harry chuckled.

  
  


"Just hold on tight." He instructed and she followed accordingly, wrapping her arms around his midsection.

  
  


"Ready?" He glanced back at her. 

  
  


"I'm closing my eyes!" She did so and heard him laugh. Slowly, Hermione felt her feet leave the ground as the broom rose higher. She held onto him tightly. Without any verbal warning, the broom lifted off. It wasn't too fast but it was certainly fast. She felt almost as if she were riding a roller coaster. Her stomach flipped a few times while Harry did a few short bursts of speed and several turns. Air pressure started to block her hearing. She felt something cold and misty and thought that they must have gone through a cloud. She was still too afraid to open her eyes, her heart thumped madly in her chest and Harry could feel the very beat of it through his jacket, glued as she was against his back.

  
  


Despite the fear and anxiety going through her, Hermione couldn't help but appreciate being this close to him. If it weren’t for the actual flying, she would have no qualms being close to him like this until forever. She mentally cursed herself for thinking sappy adolescent thoughts.

  
  


"Hermione?" He asked as they slowed down. The pressure in her ears were gone.

  
  


"Hmm?"

  
  


"Are you okay back there?" She felt him turn left.

  
  


"I haven't died yet so I suppose so." She answered.

  
  


"Open your eyes, Moneypenny..." He requested. "You'll love the view."

  
  


Hermione sighed deeply and then slowly gathered the courage to open her eyes. She gasped loudly once she did. At first she felt her stomach drop and her head spin. They were further from the ground than she anticipated. But then she heard Harry telling her to breathe slowly, inhale and exhale and once she did a few times she found that she actually calmed down and grasped her nerves. And then she noticed it all, and gasped once again, though this time out of sheer astonishment instead of fear. From up here the world felt small, almost unreachable, beautiful under the darkness and shiny lights, the sinuous curves of the river Thames below them. She felt something well up in her chest, it was beautiful and fantastic both, she’d never before dreamt of seeing London this way and quite honestly it took her breath away. Harry began slowly descending and the buildings gradually became closer. Soon Hermione found herself in awe of the beautiful view, the thousands of colorful Christmas lights below and the view of the busy streets. How she wished she had brought her camera along! She’d love to keep a physical memory of this view and wondered if anything could ever top it.

  
  


"Beautiful right?" Harry’s question broke through her thoughts. He craned his neck at her.

  
  


"It is, Harry. Thank you. Never in my life did I ever think I'd experience something like this. Even though flying scares me shitless!" She didn't realize she was out of breath until she spoke again. 

  
  


"I reckon we can look over for a few more minutes then head home?" He asked. It didn’t escape Hermione how he referred to her little house in Wandsworth as  _ home. _

  
  


Hermione leaned forward to rest her cheeks on his shoulder and tightened the embrace. "I'm fine with that but anything longer and I'm afraid I'll faint and fall!"

  
  


"Don't worry, Moneypenny, I'm here to catch you." She rolled her eyes at his cheesy reply. Her heart beating rapidly no longer due to their flying, but due to all that she felt for this incredible man.

  
  


...

When they stumbled into Hermione’s house in Wandsworth they were obviously a little high on the flying adrenaline. This Christmas had proven more emotional than either of them expected to be. Harry followed her lead in removing his winter attire and hanging it all on the tasteful hooks by the blue front door. His skin tingled from the cold air outside, though if he was honest, it was much more because of how she’d held on to him closely as they flew on his old firebolt. Even outside he’d been able to feel the delicious scent of her shampoo a lovely blend of vanilla and chamomile, though Hermione’s scent was unique and completely her own. 

  
  


“I think I fancy some tea…” She mumbled out, passing straight by him, oddly faster than necessary, a heavy, inebriating tension suddenly surrounding them that hadn’t been there before. Harry felt his pulse quicken and what he discovered as he followed Hermione into the kitchen was that he yearned much more from her than furtive glances, touches and stolen kisses.

  
  


She’d put the kettle on already and had her back to him, rummaging in the cabinet for her tin of tea bags. He stood directly behind her, less than an arm’s length and he was certain Hermione could feel the heat and energy emanating from him as he gradually moved closer. His fingers gently played with a loose curl, tucking it behind her ear. He watched as she slightly shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin. His heart beat crazy fast in his chest and he was certain that after  _ this _ nothing would ever be the same again between them.

  
  


“ _ Harry?” _ She whispered, as though she were out of breath. A question loomed in the air as he stood behind her, his body mere centimeters from her own. His fingers grazed up and down the length of her arms, dressed as she was in just a maroon top that she’d worn beneath her sweater, now hanging on the back of a chair. Harry smiled to himself as he felt her shiver from his touch, his warm breath taunting her in a way that Hermione thought her heart might jump out of her chest. She barely registered it when Harry pressed a soft and gentle kiss on her neck, right below her earlobe. He once more took in the deliciously intoxicating blend of perfume and shampoo, delighting in the taste of the delicate skin against his lips, and also in the way she sighed deeply, holding on to the kitchen counter for support.

  
  


His hands took a firm hold of her arms. He kissed her on the neck again, and then a little bit lower, and then upwards along her jaw until she threw her head back, eyes closed out of sheer pleasure. Harry spun her around, pulling her hard against him, his fingers knotting into her hair at the base of her neck. With her eyes still closed she bit her bottom lip and released it, her darkened eyes opening and gazing into his. And then she smiled at him, so tender and yet so full of passion. “I dare you to kiss me…” she whispered, taunting him like a siren.

  
  


And Harry did, delicately at first, until the electrifying heat of their desire and lust for one another intensified, their tongues and touches becoming ever more urgent and frenzied. Harry released his hold on her arms and in return Hermione wrapped them around his neck, her fingers diving into his dark, silky locks, tugging at them and pulling him even closer to her at the same time. His hands slithered around her waist, under her top. Hermione felt her skin turning on fire, wishing nothing more than for his firm hands and fingers to explore and roam over every little inch of her being.

  
  


“ _ Are you sure you didn’t put a spell on me, Moneypenny?” _ He whispered in her ear, as his fingers buried themselves within her curls, releasing them from the pencil that held them up, letting them cascade around her shoulders like a golden-brown halo.

  
  


“ _ I happen to think it’s the other way around, James…” _ He kissed her more ardently then and she returned in kind. Hermione wanted more and more to feel his taste, her skin against his skin, capture each moan, sigh and whimper and store it in her memory. 

  
  


Harry had never felt so vulnerable and yet so good, so entirely himself than with this woman. And he wanted her, body and soul, had wanted her for a long time now. So he allowed her to lead him to her bedroom, in between the best of kisses, until they fell onto her heavenly bed and engaged in heavenly, sensual rounds of the most delicious sex.

  
  


...

  
  
  


Harry woke up so suddenly that for a moment he forgot where he was. He felt slightly disoriented and his vision was blurred. He reached out with his right hand seeking glasses but instead felt something  _ soft  _ and  _ warm _ . Quickly he summoned them and came to the astonishing realization that was in Hermione's room, laying next to her on the bed and just hours ago they’d been making love.

  
  


He looked at her, a mass of brown curls sprawled over her pillow. Her bare back was to him, facing the window from where the yellowy streetlamp’s light shone through, casting a golden light over the otherwise dark room. She was snoring slightly, in the way he had known her to do in Paris, peacefully sleeping. He pulled the covers over her, protecting her from the cold. She was beautiful, utterly beautiful. He felt that he could look at her like this for hours, memorize her, count every little freckle, kiss down the lovely curve of her back. Harry would be lying if he said he’d never imagine this happening, Merlin knew he’d imagined it too often for comfort… But nothing compared to the reality of kissing her, their bodies fully entwined, taking in every little sigh and moan of pleasure, until she came undone as she straddled him, his name falling frantically from her lips. Hermione Granger was a whirlwind of a lover, and a whirlwind in bed.

  
  


A sudden ache enveloped him. Harry couldn't remember the last time he experienced this, waking up next to someone he cared deeply about and simply taking the time to admire them. He didn't think he’d ever felt anything like what he felt for Hermione tonight, or quite honestly since the day they spent together in Vienna. His past relationships definitely didn’t compare, and though he had no hard times finding lovers everywhere he traveled, they certainly didn’t have this level of care and love. 

  
  


His mind reeled as he thought of all that had happened in the past 48 hours, the rollercoaster of emotions that this Christmas had been and how much relief he felt from finally telling Hermione the truth about himself, about who he was. Her acceptance of him lifted an enormous burden off his shoulders and he appreciated her even more for it. A car engine starting outside interrupted his thoughts. Harry sighed and looked at the time on the little blue alarm clock on her nightstand which read half-past four in the morning, which explained why everything outside was still cast in darkness, from what he could see through the windows. Harry desperately wished to go back to sleep but it eluded him. He didn't know what made him wake up so suddenly, especially when hours of sleep were such a rare commodity these days. 

Maybe it was an internal false alarm. He hadn't felt this secure, this warm, and this happy in many years. Perhaps a part of him simply felt a bit weary of things, after all, all the secrecy that his position as an agent entailed and all the dangerous missions he participated in didn’t necessarily equate to a good night's sleep. Harry knew he was overthinking and hoped to shake the worry off for once in his life and just  _ live _ in the moment.

  
  


But things rarely came easy to him and just as he was about to take his glasses off and go back to sleep with his arm draped around Hermione, burying his nose in her soft vanilla-scented hair, a silvery mist began to appear in front of him until it fully formed into a fox.

  
  


The fox opened its mouth and the familiar voice of his fellow agent and friend, Peder, followed.

  
  


_ "005, there's been an emergency. I've alerted everyone else but you're the closest. I need you here at HQ now! It's a code red!"  _

  
  


Harry's eyes widened at the urgency in Peder’s tone of voice. It sounded uncharacteristically desperate and distressed. His agent’s reflexes were stronger and Harry found himself immediately jumping out of bed, careful not to wake Hermione. He put on his clothes and shoes in a haste while the Fox patronus repeated Peder's message for the third and last time. Hermione still lay oblivious, in the land of dreams. He hated to be leaving her, but hoped to return as soon as he could.

  
  


" _ Expecto Patronum!"  _ Harry’s own stag patronus pranced from his wand. "Tell Peder that I'm coming and keep a look-out," he told it and the silver stag wisped away. Harry then double-checked himself, making sure he got everything intact. He cursed at whatever was cutting his holiday short, especially right after all that had happened between him and Hermione.

  
  


He tucked his wand inside his coat and then turned around to look at her again, still fast asleep. He didn't wish to disturb her peace, so he crouched down and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his fingertips brushing against the soft and cool skin of her cheek. With a heavy heart, Harry leaned down to kiss her gently on the forehead, before leaving the bedroom and disapparating.

  
  


He didn’t think to leave her a note.


	6. Greece (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the size of this chapter makes up for the long wait!

**_Greece_ **

September 2011

_ Tokyo, Japan _

Early September 2011

  
  


There was a slight nudge around his ankles as he began to gain consciousness. The first thing he felt was a dull pain around the back of his head and then something stinging around his wrists. Harry squirmed and struggled but it seemed like the ropes around his wrists threatened to dig deeper into his skin. He did the same on his ankles but the results were the same. He blinked his eyes in the darkness, his left eye was a bit swollen. He was glad he’d taken a temporary potion that wouldn’t require him to wear his glasses, a part of his disguise. 

  
  


Wherever he was, it was stifling, and the entire area smelled like fumes of a certain mineral. He didn’t know where he was or what day it was. Had it been a day? A week? Time didn’t exist but judging by the scruff on his face, it had been days already. At least a week. He hasn’t seen the outside world or the sunlight in a while. Weakness seeped through every bone and muscle of his body. He couldn’t believe he had been caught like this. He remembered walking through the neon lit alleys of Akihabara, enjoying one last night in the electric city after months of deep undercover. He had gone laxed and wasn’t able to evade the several thugs who had chased him.

  
  


He moved again and shook his entire body with whatever energy he had left. Whatever pain he had be damned.

  
  


“I  _ vouldn’t _ move if I  _ vere _ you.” He stilled as an unfamiliar voice in the dark spoke. Harry couldn’t pinpoint the accent but it was unmistakably Eastern European. “I know who you are. I know who you work for.”

  
  


Harry didn’t dare to move again or even speak. This was new. Usually he’d be tied, hanging from the ceiling while two or three people take turns into beating him up into submission. 

“ _ Eetz _ too dark  _ izit _ ?” The voice commented. 

  
  


Harry’s captor clapped and immediately the lights went on and it was so incredibly bright that Harry had to squint his good eye. He took in his surroundings. He was tied to a metal chair and in front of him was a large wooden tub. Steam was everywhere. He felt sweat roll down on his face so fast it was as though someone had poured water over his head. His hair, which was blond for this assignment, was sticking up everywhere. He could now fully feel the stifling heat of the indoor  _ onsen, _ especially considering he was still wearing the same dark and heavy clothes from when he was last free.

  
  


Harry stared at the man in front of him. He was tall with a perfect build and good posture. He wore a very meticulous white three-piece suit while a pair of dark sunglasses covered his eyes, resting on an aquiline nose. Harry’s mysterious captor held a long metallic stick, making him seem regal, like someone who’d already come into the world wearing bespoke suits. Harry had never seen him before, not even during his dealings with the  _ yakuza _ .

  
  


“I  _ vill _ make this  _ eazy _ for you. I  _ vill _ not hurt you more.” The man slightly crouched to level his face with Harry’s. “ _ Vhere _ did you hide the item? Tell me and I _ vill _ make _ zure _ you _ vill  _ leave this place  _ alive _ .”

  
  


“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry answered stiffly. He was already formulating a plan in his head. There was nobody else around. With one man, he could probably escape. He’d have to make it quick though. 

  
  


“Please don’t try to make a fool out of me. You’ve been here for days. Zurely, you’d want to  _ go _ .” The man grinned. “ _ Thiz _ your last chance.  _ Vhere  _ iz it?”

  
  


“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry repeated. 

  
  


The suited man cackled so long and suddenly that it momentarily brought back images of Bellatrix Lestrange, from all those years ago during the wizarding war. He snapped his fingers. Harry felt two people move behind him and he braced himself for pain but all he felt was a splash of ice cold water. His entire system shook and he began to feel heavier with his sodden clothes. They took him out of the chair then dragged him towards the large wooden tub. 

  
  


“ _ Vhere iz it _ ?” The man spoke again but they didn’t wait for him to speak. Instead they dunked his head into the tub which was filled with hot water. One hand made sure his head remained inside as Harry struggled for oxygen. Just as he thought he was going to pass out they took him out of the water. He gasped and then they repeated the same thing twice. His whole body shook.

  
  


“Again I  _ vill  _ repeat. I  _ zure _ hope you  _ vill _ tell me. _ Vhere _ ?”

  
  


“I-I d-don’t k-know.” He said very weakly.

  
  


“No more patience.” The man snapped his fingers again. One of the thugs that held him ripped Harry’s clothes, his upper torso now fully bare. They held him up and brought him closer to the man. 

  
  


The man held his metallic stick up like a baton. “ _ Thiz  _ my favourite toy.” He announced then quickly drove his metallic stick towards Harry’s abdomen. Harry expected pain but he didn’t expect the surge of electric shock. For every successive hit, he convulsed.

  
  


The man hit him repeatedly with abandon, laughing at the same time. He looked like a rabid dog, his mouth frothing, enjoying the way he inflicted pain while Harry writhed on his seat, not giving him the satisfaction of a single scream. Harry, however, could only take so much. It was like the Cruciatus curse on loop. He felt his body pulse with all-round pain and his muscles twitched from the surges.

  
  


The man paused for a break, beginning to pace as he held tight to his blasted stick. Harry was thankful for the short time of relief, gasping for air as he was, his chest aching. The ropes on his wrists dug more and he could feel it now wet with his own blood, as it began to trail down his hands and trickle onto the floor. Harry managed to inhale and exhale in short bursts, his body sore and beaten. There were cuts and welts on skin, now very wet and sticky from the mix of mostly his blood and water. His swollen eye seemed to be stinging even more.

  
  


“Now, tell me…  _ Vhat  _ does your boss want with the item?  _ Vhy _ do the Irish  _ vant _ it?” The man spoke slowly, softly, his eyes full of cold-blooded resolve. He moved his way towards Harry again, ready to get his stick back into action. Harry just shook his head as he prepared for another series of hits. And when they came he was almost certain he would die. They felt impossibly more painful, the electric charges to the max. This time he couldn’t help but let most blood-curdling screams escape his mouth. Harry needed the pain to stop, he couldn’t give in. He couldn’t risk this assignment. 

  
  


His only relief was knowing that he’d been able to send the artifact to a safehouse and that there was no other way this suited arsehole or anyone would be able to track it. He’d done his bit well enough for Queen and country.

  
  


“TELL ME!” The man screamed at his face, spittles of his saliva sprayed on Harry’s face. The man had by now completely lost his composure. His suit looking dishevelled now, Harry’s blood staining it’s rich white fabric. The arse’s magic was gone. He continued to hit and hit and hit until everything went dark.

  
  


_ Magic. _ Magic was the word floating around in Harry’s brain as he escaped into his subconscious.

  
  


Harry couldn’t tell for how long he’d been passed out when he began to once again register his senses. He looked up at the man who was still there in front of him. Specks of red were on his white suit.  _ Harry’s blood. _

  
  


“ _ Vould _ you rather die?” He asked, softly again, as he brought forth a glass goblet filled with amber liquid to his mouth. “Because I  _ vould _ quite enjoy killing you slowly. I have done  _ thiz  _ many times… It  _ eez _ a favorite hobby of mine…” His words taunted.

  
  


Harry was too weak and too much in pain to say anything. His breathing was ragged, and from the feel of it he was certain he’d broken a rib. Using whatever energy he had left, Harry silently loosened the ropes around his wrists with magic. He was told to only use it as a last resort and this was it. Most of the time it seemed unfair to not be able to use magic all the time in this line of work but it was something Harry had agreed and signed up for since day one. One might call it an occupational hazard. 

  
  


“I _ vill  _ ask for the last time and believe me this  _ eez _ the last.  _ Vhere _ –”

  
  


_ BOOM! _

  
  


The entire place erupted in smoke and rubble. The blast had thrown Harry and the thugs off. Harry landed on his left shoulder. There was a sharp pain, he was pretty sure he’d broken or dislocated it. The thugs remained stationary. One of them had probably broken their neck judging by the angle. More pain enveloped him and from him erupted a guttural sound he hadn’t made in a long time. There was a series of scuffling until someone fully removed all his restraints and helped him sit right up.

  
  


“James? Here take this potion.” A familiar feminine voice said. He could barely see well with his not so good eye, the other now fully swollen shut. He felt the round and cool mouth of a glass bottle made contact with his lips and he sipped at the bittersweet concoction like the thirsty sod he was. It gave him some relief but the intensity of his pain still won over his senses.

  
  


“We were wondering why you didn’t meet with us in Roppongi. We thought you’d gone back to London but when we got a message from your boss three days later we then realised you’d gone missing. We could’ve arrived sooner but it took longer to find you and we couldn’t come here without any  reconnaissance .” She continued to talk while she seemed to be wrapping bandages around his wrist. “James? Stay with me. We have to keep you awake. You have a concussion.”

  
  


Harry nodded stiffly, his mouth and throat feeling dry despite the potion. He was parched. With his still functioning eye, he tried to look at his rescuer. He couldn’t see her clearly. The only thing that registered throughout the pain and tiredness was dark hair.

  
  


“ _ James? _ ” She asked again. “Stay awake, please.” 

  
  


“I-I c-can’t.” He was so damn tired and in pain, it needed to stop. His brain gave him a temporary leeway to think of the memories in case this was his last. It certainly wouldn’t be the first or last time this happened.

  
  


_ Dark hair _ .

  
  


_ “H-Hermione…”  _ He whispered so softly he was the only one who heard it before his body shut down into the darkness.

  
  


…

  
  


_ Plaka, Greece _

_ September 17th, 2011 _

  
  


For some reason Hermione Granger felt herself imprisoned inside her flat, inside her clothes, inside even herself. It was already mid-September, summer was supposed to be over, the hordes of tourists and the heat that clung to her skin supposed to be gone… They weren’t.

  
  


The ocean breeze was a relief as Hermione slowly made her way to the harbour, the little boats tied to the small marina done for the day; the restaurants with their yellowy lights glowing, the day’s last bit of crowd starting to retreat to their fancy hotels and resorts, all the while the locals, on their feet most of the day, wished nothing but to soak in their tubs or become ‘one with their beds’ as Hermione’s friend Melina would so eloquently put it.

  
  


Stephanos, the manager of the small seafood restaurant across the small strip of road to the beach eyed her curiously as she pulled a chair from on top of the table to sit, her half-full bottle of ouzo set faithfully in front of her. She sighed deeply once she realized her little shot glass had been forgotten at home. Hermione took her seat, freeing her toes from her sandals and burying them beneath the warm stones of the beach. The breeze blew at her curly mass of hair deliciously. How she would miss this view, this beauty, this glorious sea once she arrived back in London.

  
  


Spinalonga, the island that had brought her here in the first place was just a dark shadow across the sea, golden lights illuminating the fortress and a few of the abandoned stone houses so that no one would ever be able to forget it, and also to keep its many ghosts at bay. Hermione opened the bottle of ouzo and took a small swig of the sweet aniseed brandy.

  
  


Tomorrow she would leave Plaka and the island of Crete entirely. It felt impossibly hard...

  
  


She was startled by the sudden movement of a shot glass being practically slammed onto her table. Hermione’s eyes met with Stephanos’. His skin was so sunkissed and shiny that it almost looked like smooth leather. His linen shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his overgrown salt and pepper hair kept falling into his eyes. They were both loners, she and Stephanos. He because his wife of thirty years had passed away before him and Hermione because it’s the way she’d always been.

  
  


“ _ Drink with cup. _ ” He grumbled, as was his usual. He huffed and made his way to go home, the taverna already closed for the evening.

  
  


“ _ Epharistos _ …” She mumbled, though it was possible he couldn’t hear her due to the wind’s rustling of the bougainvillea vines and the flapping of the improvised plastic canvases designed to bring more shade to the outdoor eating area.

  
  


Hermione wondered if she would ever have that, a love so intense and all-consuming that the very loss of it might completely break her, though at the end of each day she’d be certain it was all worth it. Hermione went as far as thinking that might happen quite a few moons ago when Harry Potter had arrived in tatters at her front door on a bad boy’s motorcycle and every inch of her being had gravitated towards him like a moth to a flame, ready to be consumed. She’d come  _ this _ close but in the end he’d left, just like all the others.

  
  


In a few days she would be thirty-three years old. She closed her eyes and pictured her thirteen-year-old self perfectly, scribbling into her diary her life’s goals, compiling an in-depth timeline of everything she should accomplish each year of her life until fifty.  _ Age thirty-three: get married in Mont Saint-Michel with your one true love. You’re a bit older but that’s because you’ve got a doctorate’s degree from Harvard. _

  
  


Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, knowing the words by heart because she still kept that stupid, silly diary. _ Why? _ Just to torture herself, naturally. She did have a doctorate’s degree though, from the University of Edinburgh, not Harvard. It wasn’t that she couldn’t make it into Harvard but rather because she adored the old, rugged roads and hills of Scotland as opposed to the posh and picture-perfect lawns of _ ‘world's greatest’. _

  
  


She’d be thirty-three in just a few days and the prospect absolutely terrified her. She should be getting married now, preparing to start a family, grow roots. Instead she was dedicating all the time she had to solitary writing and producing a documentary about a leper colony in Greece that just a handful of Brits would be interested to watch. Who the fuck cared about leper colonies and all that anguish and disfiguration? People wanted beauty and glamour, such as the court of Louis XIV; they wanted conflict, evil and espionage such as the hundreds of documentaries about World War II out there. Who wanted to watch anything about Spinalonga?

  
  


Spending the summer season living in Greece was a lesson on humanity. The country was drowning in debt and economic instability, its people were holding on to whatever they could for dear life but the summer crowds cared only about the ancient ruins, the ocean and looking pretty in sundresses. Life was all about taking pictures in front of Parthenon, bathing in the sun and the sadly gentrified, gorgeous-yet-cliche isle of Santorini. At the end of the day, people only cared about themselves and their own comforts--

  
  


“I can hear you thinking from here!”

  
  


Melina’s voice came out of nowhere from behind her, prompting Hermione to nearly fall off her chair. And then that lovely, hoarse laugh filled the air and Hermione couldn’t bear to be annoyed with her friend. Melina came sporting her own shot glass, looking every bit gorgeous in her floral wrap-around dress, hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, likely due to the walk all the way here from her B&B on the other edge of the beach.

  
  


“You English people are so dramatic and pessimistic…” She declared sitting down. “And before you say anything  _ smartass _ , I can tell by your face you were being pessimistic.” She eyed Hermione with those knowing dark eyes of hers, thick brow arching.

  
  


“I’ll be thirty-three this week…” Melina rolled her eyes and made a face, pouring herself a shot. “I was supposed to be married by now, with babies on the way…” Melina groaned as she knocked back the drink, pouring some for Hermione and more for herself right after.

  
  


“That’s shit.” The Greek woman responded breathlessly, “I am forty-six and I have never been married, you don’t see it killing me! People these days are always in such a hurry,  _ such in a hurry _ … More shit happens because you people don’t stop to breathe and think about things, the good things. You are so successful. How many people would like to have the amount of success that you have! You are  _ young _ , Hermione Granger… You keep forgetting that.”

  
  


“ _ Hmmm. _ Birthday blues, I suppose.” Melina tilted her head, playing with her shot glass. “You’re right, it’s stupid… I still have plenty of time.”

  
  


“It’s normal to have this crisis with yourself, to doubt everything that you’ve done and judge everything that you have not done. It’s normal. But don’t take it as failure because it isn’t. Life is like that, throwing you lemons and more lemons.”

  
  


“Yeah, you’re right.”

  
  


“And you know what we do with lemons?” Hermione scoffed already knowing the stupid answer. “We season fish!”

  
  


“I love fish with lemon.”

  
  


“Of course, everybody does.”

  
  


“I’ll miss this place… I’ll miss you, Melina.” The woman lay her hand over Hermione’s and squeezed it gently.

  
  


“Greece was good to you, Hermione. It cured your heart that was hurting and you also were good to Greece as well. This is your home, be sure of it.” Hermione nodded, tears that she would prefer not to shed pooling in her eyes.

  
  


“I keep thinking, ‘whatever did I do wrong?’...” Her voice broke, she couldn’t help it. “Why couldn’t he stay, for fuck’s sake?”

  
  


“Well, you would know if you hadn’t destroyed all his letters.” She eyed Hermione in that sharp way of hers, the hint of a smirk on the corner of her lips. “What kind of historian rips up letters and throws them in the fire? It’s evidence!”

  
  


“A very pissed off historian.”

  
  


“HA! You shall live with that curiosity.” Hermione rolled her eyes and knocked back another shot of ouzo, the clear liquid burning the back of her throat. She could already feel the light buzz of intoxication, normally she’d be more careful but she needed the ouzo if she intended to get any sleep tonight. Saying goodbye never came easy.

  
  


…

  
  


There was a crack in the air and then a long silhouette emerged on the wide open street that led to a chained-wire fence. A figure stepped underneath the light from a lamppost and the silhouette as it turned out, was a man wrapped in a heavy trench coat. He held something out. One by one the lights from the lampposts faded with several clicks. Darkness enclosed him once more as he walked towards the gravelled path to the entrance gate. 

  
  


The gate was around ten feet high and made of rusting chicken wire and rotting wood. There was a sign that said:  _ Private Property. Trespassers will be shot.  _ A cold breeze passed by him and he clung to his trench coat. After a moment he began to examine the gate, to see if he could go through it without any disturbance but the chains around it were fortunately loosened. Quietly, he removed the chains and entered. He squinted as he was greeted by more darkness and the eerie sounds of the night sea breeze. He felt his breathing fogging up his glasses as he reached for his left inner pocket. 

  
  


Harry had gotten the note after his post-mission debriefing that lasted nearly several hours. It was only twenty-four hours ago that he finally landed at Heathrow after nearly a year of being overseas. Ever since that badly timed call from Peder during Christmas, he was immediately shoved to a high alert emergency and then was given a highly sensitive mission without any protest. He was sent to Japan under the guise of 'James St. John', an Irish black market purveyor who had just gotten intel about a secret bidding war of an ancient artifact. He was  _ supposedly sent _ by his 'boss' from Ireland to coordinate with the  _ Yakuza.  _ And thus, he spent the past year inside the murky criminal underworld of Tokyo.

  
  


He paused in his steps as he stifled a yawn and looked at the area he was in. He was running on three cups of black coffee and a thirty minute nap. Undercover briefings were always incredibly long and tiring. HQ needed to make sure that anyone coming from undercover missions was going to pass the baseline test and prevent any notions of defecting. Plus before all that he had to recuperate in Tokyo for at least a week. He shivered as he remembered the torture he had gone through. It wasn’t the first time he’d been tortured but it was the first time that he genuinely felt afraid. He reread the crumpled piece of parchment on his left hand as his right hand held his wand that cast a soft  _ Lumos _ .

  
  


_ Pier 42, Dock 5 _

_ Midnight _

_ Be Discreet. _

  
  


He continued to hold his wand aloft as he read at the wooden signs and looked for dock 5. The saline smell of the sea invaded his nostrils and the cool breeze chilled him even more. He continued to walk until he found the dock. It was made of wood and wasn’t too wide, just enough to let a few passengers walk on. It extended to beyond but he wasn’t sure of its length. He could see light from a lighted buoy over there and could hear waves slapping on something solid, maybe a boat or something else. The rest of his surroundings were shrouded in mist. He became instantly aware of  _ someone _ or  _ something _ watching his every move. He didn't react to it so that whoever or whatever was following him wouldn't be alerted. 

  
  


Slowly he stepped on the dock and it creaked. He wasn't sure if the dock could hold him, the wood seemed to be badly maintained but it led to a sort of domino effect that got his senses on high alert as suddenly the mist dwindled into an outline of a man. The man looked tall, imposing, and malevolent despite his hidden features. He gripped his wand as he walked closer towards the figure, the smell of the sea getting stronger as he did so. He wrinkled his nose but never lost his cadence. When he got closer, the outline became vague and just as he sped up, he instantly paused as he realised what was happening next. His peripheral vision gave him an advantage. He side-stepped before he turned around and yelled  _ Stupefy! _ Red light shot out of his wand but whoever was about to attack him managed to evade quickly. He was about to send another spell, non-verbally this time, but a voice had stopped him.

  
  


“Bleeding hell, Potter, it’s me.” Peder showed himself.

  
  


Harry relaxed and put his wand down. “You git! I could’ve killed you!”

  
  


“As if,” Peder smirked. He had a cigarette between his lips and he lit it with a match. “Thought you knew the note was from me.”

  
  


“Didn’t say so otherwise. Not a clue or a code.” Harry replied.

  
  


“Well, I was in a hurry.” Peder cocked his head. “Follow me. It’s  _ fucking  _ cold out here.”

  
  


Harry followed him as they left the dock and jumped onto a large derelict boathouse. “What’s with the ward?”

  
  


“Just a precaution.” Peder lit a lantern and the two of them settled themselves inside. Harry looked around, everything was rotting or rusting. It seemed like no one had been using this place. “You missed your shot back there. You've been lacking practice. What, did Tokyo make you lazy?"

  
  


“You sound like I was gone for a holiday there.” Harry scoffed then rubbed the now invisible scars around his wrists. He winced as he had done so, thinking about what he had gone through to make it back to Britain,  _ alive _ . He swore he could still feel the electric shocks even if days had gone by.

  
  


“Got those full body tattoos? Always wanted one like theirs.” Peder inquired.

  
  


“I’m  _ gaijin _ to them. Working with the  _ yakuza _ isn’t a breeze. I only dealt with them but I was never really _ inside _ .” Harry explained. “And you? Where’d they send you?” 

  
  


“Less exotic than yours. Upper north than here.” He answered.

  
  


“Here?” Harry repeated.

  
  


“I’m still working. My  _ bosses _ sent me here to guard.” Peder replied nonchalantly.

  
  


“You mean you’re still  _ undercover _ ?” Harry wanted to scold him for his recklessness.

  
  


“Until I hijack the shipment. Should be due in three hours. Thought I’d invite you over for a chat to kill time.” Peder flicked his finished cigarette away and started on a new one. “Want one?”

  
  


"Kicked the habit a long time ago and you know that." Harry shook his head. “Cut to the chase. You could’ve just told me this in a friendlier time and place. I’m still fucking jetlagged. The debriefing wasn't a walk in the park. Lazenby looked like he expected me to attack him.” 

  
  


A part of Harry didn’t want to admit how shook he’d felt during and after his eventful escape. There was still pain all over his body. The scars seemed to have healed but he knew they’d remain with him. He shook his head and sobered up. Peder had no business knowing the full extent of it all.

  
  


“Lazenby's always paranoid. Anyway, I sniffed up a lead and I’m following it immediately after this. No time wasting. Lazenby thinks it’ll be a good idea if I have you in the background, as a backup, evidently,” Peder trailed off. 

  
  


Harry sighed. Being back here in England reminded him of that someone. A someone who hadn’t gotten back to him since the last letter he mailed. He wasn’t able to think about her too much while he was undercover in Tokyo. Carelessness and distractions were a combo he couldn’t afford when dealing with the  _ yakuza _ . He didn’t want to dwell on it or her too much, perhaps later when he’d gotten better sleep but  _ Merlin _ , he'd be lying if he said he didn't think of  _ her  _ too much. Their lovely holiday,  _ that night,  _ and that stupid hasty exit. He was incredibly fucked.

  
  


“I don’t know, Peder... I was hoping to have a quiet,  _ uninterrupted _ break for once.” Harry couldn’t help his curiosity, however. “Where would this  _ job _ be?”

Peder smirked. “Greece.”

  
  


Harry had been to Greece only once before and it had been too quick a stop, not allowing him any time to properly explore. “I don’t know, mate…”

  
  


“Come on, Harry. We work great as a team! It’ll be quick. It won’t be like the last time. I promise you, you’ll just be the backup when the occasion arises. Otherwise, it’ll just be like a paid holiday.”

  
  


Harry shook his head. His decision was firm. He’d already made plans to go on leave and visit Hermione, it was high up on his list of priorities seeing as he’d already spent the last two days with Andromeda and visiting his godson. He wondered where she could be right now. He supposed he could go check her place in Wandsworth. Merlin knows he really was in deep shit. Gods, Harry couldn’t even  _ not _ think about her for a damn minute. He wondered if she hated him. He wondered if he could still make it up to her. After all, it wasn't really his fault. Maybe she'd understand the whole undercover thing.  _ Hopefully.  _

  
  


“Alright, I’ve got another reason for you to go with me.” 

  
  


Harry looked at him curiously.

  
  


“You know the  _ bird _ you were telling me about... The one you had to leave the last time?” Harry winced at the last bit. He really didn't need yet another reminder. 

  
  


“She’s not just a  _ bird _ ,” Harry retorted.

  
  


Peder laughed, "ah, mate, you're fucked aren't you?" 

  
  


"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry challenged. 

  
  


"You know what I mean. She doesn't really sound like your type." He answered. 

  
  


"You're being rubbish." Harry replied hotly.

  
  


Peder shook his head and shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve tracked where she is. You know, after you whined to me about forgetting to send her a note and everything. I know I wasn't supposed to but she never replied to that letter you told me to send and I got bored so I made good  _ selfless  _ use of my skills…"

  
  


“ _ And? _ ” Harry’s ears perked up.

  
  


“She’s in Greece.” He answered with a nonchalant shrug. 

  
  


Harry wished he could hex that stupid smug look from Peder’s ugly face.

  
  


…

  
  


All was dark outside as Hermione sat in the passenger’s seat of her landlady’s car at around ten in the evening. She was still a bit tipsy from the drinks she’d shared with Melina earlier, and Yakinthi had kindly volunteered to drive her to the main port. The woman in question was well into her sixties, her hair was silver at the roots but it stylishly changed from lavender to deep purple at the edges. Apparently she was a famous businesswoman in Athens, and the house in Plaka which had belonged to her parents was mostly where Yakinthi spent her holidays, staying empty aside from tenants such as Hermione for most of the year.

  
  


There wasn’t much that could be enjoyed whilst looking out the window, lights were scarce along the narrow road to Chania, where Hermione would get on the overnight ferry boat to Athens.

  
  


Yakinthi turned on the car radio and the two boasted similar laughing reactions when AC/DC started playing, which was quite anticlimactic. Yakinthi kept it on but lowered the volume a bit.

  
  


“I will very much like to see your movie about Spinalonga, Hermione.” She said, eyes fixed on the road. “I told you, didn’t I, that I was a little girl when the people who lived there filled the boats one by one and returned to their homes all around Greece when the cure was discovered. I will never forget those scenes… Some looked better than others you see. Leprosy completely disfigures the face and the body, it’s a terrible and slow disease that takes you bit by bit until nothing else is left. There was a woman on one of those boats, I remember her because she had blonde hair and natural blonde is not so common in my country… She was beautiful and I will never forget her because she had once been my school teacher and she was a very good one. Persefoni Dimitriadou was her name.”

  
  


“Oh, yes, we talk about her in the movie. She continued to teach while in Spinalonga…” Yakinthi nodded.

  
  


“Good, good. Those people were good people too… There was so much stigma with leprosy because of the Bible. People who had leprosy were believed to be cursed by God himself and with the religious people of Greece... Well, not all were received with open arms by their families. And those were difficult times right after the war. The Germans had left Greece but all the suffering they caused remained. We didn’t have much food and entire towns were destroyed. In Plaka we were lucky, we had the sea which gave us fish and seafood to eat.” Yakinthi turned her eyes away from the road a bit and glanced at Hermione, giving her a little smile. “You remind me of my teacher, Persefoni Dimitriadou… She was so strong, so determined, she turned to me a few days before she had to leave for Spinalonga and said  _ ‘Yakinthi, it is sweet to view the sea when standing on the shore’. _ I say this now to you.”

  
  


“Thank you, Jackie.” Hermione had tears pooling in her eyes. She knew Yakinthi wasn’t much of a talker, especially when the subject was her past. The older woman had never come across as particularly fond of Plaka or her home facing the mediterranean and the island Hermione had come all the way from England to meet. Yakinthi clucked her tongue and smiled, eyes back on the road.

  
  


“Do you know why I tell you this?”

  
  


“Because you’re a very wise woman?” Jackie chuckled at Hermione’s response, her eyes bright. She then shook her head, bobbing her beautiful silver and purple hair.

  
  


“It is because I see a sadness in your eyes. What that saying means is that you must take your life and live it as you want to live it. Don’t just look at the sea and imagine, ‘ _ oh, how pretty’. _ Go into the sea and discover the danger, the waves, the mysterious creatures in that sea.  _ Nothing _ is perfect upclose. This is true for people, for places, and even for love. But, and you must remember this because most people forget:  _ perfection is boring. _ A life that is perfect, that is only a sweet view of the sea, a life that is too safe… It is not a good life. Things that are too perfect and too easy are never appreciated.”

  
  


Hermione felt Yakinthi’s words deep in her heart. She had learned from a very young age how perfection did not exist, how people were capable of the most dreadful things. However, she had also learned that through the lifeless, ugly, gray of the concrete could be a crack, and through that crack beautiful, colorful flowers could blossom. 

  
  


Hermione thought about Harry for perhaps the millionth time this week,  _ hell _ , this day. Harry was that crack in the concrete, and they had come this close to blossoming into something great. She regretted it, being stubborn as she had been, destroying his letters before even daring to read them, she’d been blinded by her own anger and resentment. It seemed to have been stronger than even her powerful curiosity.

  
  


When Harry left her in the middle of the night after she’d given herself to him like she had never given herself to any other man, he had shattered that sweet view of the sea, that bliss, that perfection. His departure had hurt, had brought her entire idealization of him tumbling down. Harry wasn’t perfect, Hermione wasn’t perfect, their short-lived affair had seemed to be perfect until it wasn’t, and it was silly of Hermione to have hoped that it might be.

  
  


She gazed outside of her car window at the lovely town of Chania that began to appear ahead of them. “I don’t believe in perfection…” She finally told Yakinthi, “Perfection is overrated.”

  
  


…

  
  


By the time the ferry boat started honking its horns Hermione had long been awake. The nearly eight hours of crossing from Crete to the Piraeus port in Athens had felt quite interminable. Her back ached due to the stiff faux-leather arm chairs and she hadn’t gotten much sleep to begin with because of the restlessness that came from leaving the island that had been her home for the past nine months. She walked out onto the deck, her two suitcases on tow. She wanted to watch as they approached that magnificent Athenian harbor, cruise ships and cargos anchored in the distance. It was half-past six in the morning and the sky was all pinks and oranges as the sun rose up on the horizon… It just about took Hermione’s breath away.

  
  


The tiny village of Plaka and even Chania which was one of Crete’s main cities had been a far cry from the loud, hectic and bustling Athens. Cars honked as they passed through, Greeks and tourists alike boarding off and on the port that had served this town since antiquity. That was to Hermione perhaps the biggest appeal of this country, just to imagine the millions of people who had walked these same paths, this same sea for millennia… It was both mind-blowing and humbling. Athens had an energy and magnetism that was all her own.

  
  


She found herself traipsing that path towards the nearest taxi and once she’d hopped into one it took a good half-hour drive for Hermione to reach her favorite part of Athens, ironically also called Plaka. 

  
  


The neighborhood was something of a dream with its narrow stone-paved streets, some so steep they possessed stairs to reach the houses on top. The whole neighborhood of Plaka was located on the foot of the Acropolis surrounded by Athens’ most iconic temples, sanctuaries and ruins set in a vivid and colorful mix of ancient, old and new. Bright magenta bougainvillea vines blossomed in almost every house one looked at. Cafés, restaurants, shops, hostels and boutique hotels lined the streets which catered to locals and tourists alike.

  
  


Hermione jumped out of her taxi carrying her luggage and found herself immediately beckoned by a small shop offering coffee and tea, tables and chairs set along the sidewalk. She sat on a tiny round one from where she could watch as the locals went about their day, some headed for work, kids headed for school, while others opened their bakeries and cafés. She wasn’t sure yet which hotel to stay in as the last time she’d been in Athens she had stayed at Yakinthi’s house in a more high class neighborhood. This time she hoped to explore a bit more of Plaka, the neighborhood that had charmed her so much, even if she had just a single day and night.

  
  


The young waiter girl, no older than twenty came back to her table wearing a smile, “ _ Tha thélate káti állo? _ ” She said, asking Hermione if there was anything else she might like.

  
  


“ _ Thélo mia bougátsa se parakaló, _ ” Hermione responded, asking for a bougatsa pastry, which was basically a square of filo dough with custard sandwiched inside and powdered sugar on top. The young waitress nodded.

  
  


“It’s so nice that you’ve made an effort to speak Greek,” she complimented. “You speak very well.”

  
  


“I could say the same about your English…” The girl blushed. “I’m Hermione.”

  
  


“I’m Sophia… And, I know who you are, I saw your interview on TV about the Spinalonga documentary, it sounds very interesting.”

  
  


“Ah yes! We wrapped up filming a week ago and now I’m slowly saying my goodbyes to Greece for now. The documentary will premiere on BBC next year and in Greek cinemas too.”

  
  


“I look forward to it. I’ll go get your bougatsa, they’re nice and fresh today.” Sophia was just about to turn around when Hermione called her again.

  
  


“Sophia, do you know of any hotels here in Plaka? Nothing too fancy please, just to spend the night. The ferry boat nearly killed my back…”

  
  


“Umm, there’s a great one not far called the Sweet Home Hotel. You go down a block and then turn right, it’s a coral-colored  _ antique _ building, you can’t mistake it, full of pretty flowers.”

  
  


Hermione finished up her breakfast and decided it was better she check into the hotel, it was no good walking around the narrow streets with two giant suitcases, and even just a block’s distance was enough of a nuisance. A good fifteen minutes passed and she arrived in front of the hotel which was just as Sophia had described. She presented her passport, signed the form and in no time thanked all the gods and angels above as she fell onto the large, soft bed. 

  
  


She was just about closing her eyes, preparing for a well-deserved nap when her cellphone, buried deep in her jacket pocket began to obnoxiously ring to the sound of The Spice Girls’  _ Wannabe. _ She groaned and rolled her eyes knowing it was her cousin Fabian. She begrudgingly rolled off the bed to answer it, jumping back on it as soon as she pressed the green button.

  
  


“ _ Alou _ , Bunny darling! Get your arse off that miserable otherwise empty bed. The day is beautiful and full of wondrous possibilities!  _ Allez, allez! _ ”

  
  


“ _ Tu fais chier _ , Fabian, I’m fucking tired. Do you know how ridiculously uncomfortable it is to cross a sea in a ferry boat?”

  
  


“I bring good news… A slightly early birthday gift of sorts.”

  
  


“You always give the worst gifts, remember that banana-shaped purse?”

  
  


“I was high, Bunny, I just bought the first piece of rubbish I saw. Be thankful I even remembered, I was even wilder in those days!

  
  


“What’s my gift then?”

  
  


“Ha! I knew you would be curious, I read you like a book,  _ chérie _ . Anyway, his name is Guillaume and he’s a poet, I met him here in  _ Paris _ and he is so excited to meet you… He’s in Athens so I thought this was my chance to do something truly charitable in my life. This means, Bunny, that you have a date today. I know, I know, I’m such a miracle maker!”

  
  


Hermione was so taken aback by her cousin’s utter madness that she couldn’t fathom a proper response, so he went on his crazy monologue about how she should start to freeze her eggs while Hermione lay her head on the pillow and just stared at the ceiling hyperventilating.

  
  


She would have to shave her  _ fucking _ legs today.

  
  


…

  
  


Hermione felt ridiculous as she walked. She took a glance at her reflection on the front display of one of the shops, making sure her hair was acceptable and that her make up wasn’t smudged or anything. A part of her wanted to back out of this and maybe call Fabian to scream at him. After all, he was the one who set up this ‘blind date’. It wasn’t even a total blind date because Fabian had sent her photo to the man she was supposed to meet, which was unfair because she was totally in the dark here.  _ Hopefully,  _ Fabian sent a good photo of her and not one of those from the websites, which made her look like the poster girl for some NHS propaganda. 

  
  


She took a deep breath and tried to relax. She had to remind herself that she wasn’t a teenager on her way to her first date anymore. She could do this!

  
  


It didn’t take long for her to find the café. She frowned for a slight moment. Cafés made her think of _Vienna_ and Vienna would always be irrevocably linked with Harry Potter in her heart. She bit her lip and internally reprimanded herself. Now wasn’t the time to think of _him_. Hermione hated how Harry seemed to have this invisible, insufferable hold on her. She shook her head. _No thinking of him today!_ She needed to focus on this date. Who knows? Whoever this bloke was, maybe he’d be the one to break the spell.

  
  


Taking another deep breath, she entered Café Aspasia genuinely adoring the name for its historical namesake. There weren’t many people inside so it shouldn’t be that difficult to find this guy  _ Guillaume _ . Her eyes roamed the tables, looking for a man who could be him. There weren’t many men in this café unless she counted the employee who was mopping the floor at one end and the other manning the cash register. Three tables in front of her sat a man looking perhaps old enough to be her father. He was reading a small leather bound book while drinking from his coffee cup. She looked around a little more and realized that the older gentleman was the only male customer in the entire café. She checked her watch. Fabian  _ did _ say that Guillaume would meet her in the café at three pm and it  _ was _ five past three already. 

  
  


She wondered if her dear cousin Fabian had set her up with an older man. Not that she had anything against older men but she couldn’t fathom this scholarly, tweed-wearing gentleman to be in the same social circle as her cousin’s. She didn’t have much of a choice, she’d have to approach him man and ask if he was Guillaume. 

  
  


As Hermione was about to walk towards him, someone bumped into her.

  
  


“ _ Pardon! Je suis désolé.”  _ A deep luscious male voice spoke in perfect French. 

  
  


Hermione detected the French and immediately turned around to face him. And what a man, ladies and gents. His hair was of a well-groomed wavy blond; he was tall and fit, his skin just the right kind of sunkissed and he had the body of a tennis player. He was clean shaven and even the likes of Hermione had to marvel at his perfectly chiseled face. 

  
  


“It’s my fault, I was blocking the way.” 

  
  


“Oh, but how could anything be your fault!” He exclaimed in English this time. His eyes seemed to sparkle with recognition once he really looked at her, a smile rising on his face. “You’re Hermione, _oui?_ _Je te reconnais sur la photo!_ ” He exclaimed, pulling the blasted picture of her out of his pocket. Hermione was surprised to see that it was an actually good one.

  
  


So  _ this _ was Guillaume.

  
  


“Shall we get a table?” He led her. There was a certain confidence as he walked, like he owned the place. Hermione followed him, feeling a slight bit unbalanced by the suddenness of his appearance. 

  
  


“So, how long have you been here?” She decided to break the ice as they waited for the server.

  
  


“Just a few days.” He answered, his blue eyes behind fashionable clubmaster frames that Hermione wasn’t sure were prescription.

  
  


The server thankfully didn’t take long to pop by and take their orders, she decided on a  _ metrio _ coffee, the way most Greeks drank it. Medium-sized, black, just one sugar.

  
  


"I think I'll have a  _ cappuccino _ ." Guillaume told the server, the word  _ cappuccino  _ so perfectly pronounced. Her first meeting with Harry in Vienna came back to the forefront of her thoughts. 

  
  


Neither of them ordered any food to pair with. Hermione glanced outside, which was neither bright or gloomy. It was an ordinary afternoon, lovely even. She wasn't sure why she’d suddenly taken such an interest in the weather but a part of her desperately wished it would rain.  _ And Harry might appear in his worn leather jacket.  _

  
  


She was startled by something on her hand only to realize Guillaume had been trying to hold it. 

  
  


"Is it okay if I hold your hand?" He asked with a smile showing perfectly white teeth. "I just think it's romantic. After all, this is a date,  _ oui _ ?" 

  
  


Hermione blinked a few times before speaking. "Um, of course."

  
  


"Your hand is soft and beautiful. Flawless." He was enclosing both of his hands to hers. "Right here. This moment is perfect."

  
  


"It is?" She asked. 

  
  


" _ Yes. _ I can feel the intensity of our connection. Don't you feel it?” He leaned in closer to her and whispered, in a manner that was meant to be seductive: “It's sizzling like lightning." Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes, thinking he might have described it too dramatically.

  
  


"So, how'd you come to meet my cousin?" She changed the subject. 

  
  


"On the street." He answered. 

  
  


"On the  _ street _ ?  _ Dans la rue? _ " 

  
  


"Yes! It was fashion week. I was hoping to get into modelling as my day job. I thought Fabian was a scout so I approached him and we talked. He then invited me to a party. I think it was a celebration for a snake but I wasn't sure because I had drunk too _ many  _ champagne to pay attention." He answered nonchalantly.

  
  


"So you're a model?"

  
  


"Yes but my real profession is being a poet. Poetry…  _ Ah, est ma passion _ ." Upon hearing the word poetry, Hermione perked up, hoping that this date would finally get interesting.

  
  


…

  
  


It was roughly 6 pm when their portkey arrived at the arrival point inside the Greek Ministry of Magic in Athens. A disgruntled Harry lined up as the Ministry official checked their credentials. He barely had a shut eye after meeting up with Peder who wanted him at the Ministry of Magic by 8 am British time for a ‘short’ briefing that was everything but short. 

  
  


“ _ Next! _ ” The Ministry official barked. Harry stepped forward and handed over his papers. He glanced up at the details of the tall columns and the brilliant metopes. He wasn’t well-versed in Ancient Greek History and he wished he could just visit Athens as a tourist, and maybe learn the story behind the details and all of that.

  
  


“All good, sir.” The Ministry official handed back his papers.

  
  


“ _ Epharistos, _ ” Harry muttered, thanking the officer in his own language.

  
  


Harry moved towards the security ring which emitted a few purple rays before it turned blue, allowing him to step out of it. It was meant to detect any possible artefact being carried in or out of the country. Wizarding Greece was very strict with the import and export of its artefacts. Being as it was a hotbed for illegal exchanges and artefact thievery.

  
  


Peder and Harry exited the Ministry via tapping their wands against two enormous columns, prompting a light to shimmer between them before granting them access to the Acropolis and the rest of Greece. A flash suddenly blasted in front of their faces. They both nearly took their wands out due to their agent reflexes but quickly realized it was just the flash from a camera.

  
  


“ _ Bloody _ tourists. It’s  _ fuckin’  _ daylight!” Peder grumbled and glared at the Asian tourist who was excessively taking photos. The entire area was covered with a mass of tourists of all nationalities, nevermind how early it was.

  
  


The Greek Ministry of Magic functioned within the Parthenon temple itself, though to the muggles it was just magnificent ancient ruins. Greek Wizards from around the 10th century lay the foundations for these powerful wards which for all this time had prevented any non-wizarding folks from getting folded into the magical dimension that separated the muggle and magical. It was famously fool-proof and quite admirable, really. 

  
  


The entire Hellenic Ministry operated within the ancient temple and below it. No muggle had ever accidentally wandered inside the Ministry and any witch or wizard could easily blend in whenever they entered or exited. Even when Nazi soldiers had camped in the Parthenon during World War II the ministry had continued functioning and existing there without them realizing, Harry had learned as much during his MI6 training.

  
  


“I have to meet my source in half an hour and he’s a suspicious bloke so I don’t reckon you should come along.” Peder spoke as they left the overcrowded spots. “It shouldn’t take long but if I don’t return in an hour, you know what to do.”

  
  


“Alright. Send me a patronus if anything comes up before that. I’m going straight to her hotel… When I find it.” Harry replied. He planned to immediately start his search for Hermione as soon as he got caffeine and a bite to eat in his system.

  
  


“I want to say you’re ridiculous but you’re hopeless and it’s your life. I just hope this muggle is worth it.” Peder said.

  
  


“She is. Wait until you meet her,” Harry replied defensively.

  
  


“Lovesick fool!”

  
  


“Git!” Harry retorted only for Peder to walk off showing him the middle finger.

  
  


Once Peder left, Harry thought deep and hard on how to find her. He paused by a corner on the street and let himself gaze along the scenery of the bright day. There was a heavily vandalized yellow telephone booth across him and just like that, an idea came to him. He crossed the street and dug in his pocket for some change. It was a bit of a stretch but he wanted to at least try. He tried her old mobile number but as always it never connected, so he put the Euro coins back in and dialed one of the few other mobile numbers he had memorized.

  
  


It rang a few times before a familiar enthusiastic voice spoke: " _ Alou! C'est le fabuleux Fabian. Qui est-ce?" _

  
  


"Hullo Fabian! It's Harry, Harry Potter," He greeted back with less enthusiasm. 

  
  


" _ Oh _ . It's  _ you _ ." There was a sudden shift in his tone. Harry wasn't the least bit surprised. 

  
  


"She's told you then?" Harry replied glumly. 

  
  


"Of course she did you  _ connard! _ "

  
  


"You know I'm hopeless at French so your insult won't work on me, Fabian." He said all too smugly.

  
  


"You  _ idiot _ ! How dare you! I was rooting for you! Even Sylvie liked you! Why are you calling me?  _ Am I your next conquest?  _ Well  _ excuse me _ ,  _ Monsieur _ , I will simply not be  _ used _ like my poor cousin was."

  
  


"What? No! I'm not calling you for that. What the bloody hell…" Harry sputtered. 

  
  


"Well, how could I be so sure?" Fabian piped back.

  
  


"I’m calling because of Hermione. I need to know where she is, I'm actually in Athens right now, I’ve come to find her, she never answers her phone..."

  
  


"Bold of you to assume that I'd tell you where she is. You  _ abandoned _ her! Simply unacceptable. And she changed her number, so..." Fabian replied, miffed. 

  
  


"It was an emergency and I sent her a letter later on!" Harry defended. 

  
  


"Well she tore that letter to pieces."

  
  


Harry sighed. He knew that with the sort of temper she had there’d be a strong chance she’d do something like that. 

  
  


"Please, Fabian, I need to talk to her. I made a mistake, I want to make amends. I'll do anything for fuck’s sake!" 

  
  


" _ Anything? _ " Fabian's voice morphed into one of amused malice. 

  
  


"Anything." Harry was certain Fabian would make him pay in the least convenient way possible, but even that was worth it if it meant finding Hermione.

  
  


"In that case, when I go to England next month, will you pretend to be my boyfriend?" Fabian asked. 

  
  


"Your  _ what _ ?" 

  
  


"I have a stupid school reunion next month and I know my ex will be there so I just want to flaunt my successful life  _ plus yummy boyfriend. _ " Fabian explained. "Just a little payback for what he did." Harry hesitated.

  
  


"I see, Harry… Well it was nice knowing you." Fabian's voice faded. 

  
  


"Yes!  _ Fine _ . Yes. I'll pretend to be your boyfriend during your stupid reunion." He relented.

  
  


" _ Magnifique!  _ I was originally going to hire an actor or a model but you will do just fine." Fabian exclaimed. 

  
  


"So, where is Hermione?" He asked. 

  
  


"Ah, yes… She texted me that she didn't make it to her London flight." Fabian replied. 

  
  


"And?" 

  
  


"She decided to stay in Greece to meet someone, a very handsome charming man I should add," he replied nonchalantly. "The caring and loving cousin that I am, I didn't want her to be lonely on her birthday and I know someone who's absolutely _yummy_ who's there. Thought I'd _hook_ _them_ _up_ , you know, as a birthday gift to her. She could do with some wild hot sex after what you did." He trailed off. 

  
  


"Fabian!" Was all Harry could say. The mere thought of Hermione being intimate with any other man made him sick, he bloody hated himself for having done this to their relationship.

  
  


"I was really rooting for you, Harry, dear, but you were such a dick. My cousin will not wait forever, you know? Her unfertilized eggs won't either. I advised her to start freezing them."

  
  


"You're getting off topic." 

  
  


"Am I?" Fabian questioned sarcastically. "You better hurry, Harry. Go to Plaka, not the one she was in Crete but the one in Athens. Let's hope your reasons are good but maybe… You're already too late."

  
  


"You're not helping!" Harry said as the payphone started beeping. He started digging his pockets for more coins.

  
  


"I'm kidding! I'm still rooting for you. Her future offspring depend on your good-looking genes. Anyway, I’ve got to go, I have a beauty appointment today. See you next month,  _ Mon chéri _ .  _ Au revoir! _ " Fabian replied and then the line went dead. 

  
  


Harry placed the receiver back in its place and huffed in annoyance. He looked at his watch for the time and then damned Peder because he was not going to wait for him. He needed to get to Plaka  _ immediately.  _

  
  


…

  
  


The lift landed with a _ ding  _ and Harry anxiously stepped out. It had taken him a few wandless casts of the Confundus charm to guarantee that the receptionist would give him Hermione’s room number. 

  
  


As he started walking down the hallway he suddenly remembered how empty handed he was. Harry was clueless on how to do this, he hadn’t done anything of the sort in a long time. He looked around, wondering momentarily if he should perhaps transfigure something into flowers but then he didn’t know what Hermione’s preferred flowers were and he’d hate to give her the wrong ones. He winced as he vaguely remembered Ginny scolding him for getting her the wrong flowers when they were together. He shook his head to himself at the memory. Ginny was a lifetime ago and this was the present. He needed to focus on the  _ now _ . 

  
  


He passed by a mirror and tried to smooth down his unmanageable hair. Trying to fix the blasted thing he’d been cursed with was a sure sign of his escalating nervousness.

  
  


_ “Bloody man up, Potter. _ ” He told himself before he finally reached the room number. He couldn’t help but fidget with his hands as he prepared to knock on the door. He hadn’t been this excited or nervous since his first kiss eons ago. Perhaps not the best thing to be remembering right now considering it had been the worst possible first kiss.

  
  


_ Knock knock knock _

  
  


Harry waited but there was no response. He knocked a few more times, his anxiety growing more and more. The door never budged open, not a sound could be heard. Maybe Hermione was out or asleep... Maybe she hadn’t heard the door. He looked towards the right side of the door only to realize there was a doorbell all along. He pressed on it twice and waited a bit more, tapping his right foot against the marble floor of the hallway.

  
  


Finally the door opened.

  
  


“ _ Mon chou chou? _ ” The door revealed a half-naked tall, blond bloke. His hair was wet and there was only a towel that covered the bottom half of him. Harry was taken aback instantly.

  
  


Harry glanced at the door number to make sure he got it right and indeed it was the same one the receptionist had informed him downstairs. Could he have cast too many Confundus charms on the receptionist and been given the wrong room number? Was that possible? 

  
  


“I’m sorry. Wrong room number.” He croaked out before turning around and making a dash towards the lift.

  
  


Harry suddenly felt a desperate, agonizing need to join Peder at the bar and knock whiskey down his throat to see if it made his thick brain work right. He had a build up going on and it was so easily dampened by his failure in finding her... That bloke better not report him. Maybe he should delete the CCTV footage of the hallway to be sure? Would he have time to do that? He shook his head as he entered the lift again.

  
  


He finally landed on the ground floor again lamenting the fact that the lift rides felt longer. He looked over the front desk and thought to double check on the room number again but decided to wait for the next receptionist to take over… This one clearly had been no help at all.

Harry followed the small signs indicating the path to the hotel bar and made his way towards the west wing. There weren’t any crowds yet as guests were only beginning to arrive for the happy hour, everyone probably enjoying their day of sight-seeing in Athens.

  
  


Knowing that Peder prefered bar counters Harry set out to find him. Easily enough he could see his mate’s back facing someone else. He squinted. Was that an umbrella on his cocktail glass? Harry almost laughed. Peder was a beer or whisky type of bloke, never in Harry’s wildest dreams could he imagine the man sipping a cocktail.

  
  


“Mate, I think we’re on track here but they gave me the wrong–” He started as he walked closer only to stop on his tracks the minute Peder began to turn around and he was given the view of the woman sitting next to him, dressed in a white summer dress.

  
  


His eyes widened and his jaw nearly dropped. He felt he might be getting a bloody heart attack. 

  
  


There  _ she _ was, being delivered a new round of her drink.

  
  


“Hermione!” He cried out, perhaps too loudly. She turned her head towards him looking annoyed at first until her beautiful face etched in ultimate shock. 

  
  


Harry walked towards her immediately.

  
  


“I think you should–” Peder tried to interject.

  
  


“ _ Shush! _ ” Harry gestured for him to go away. He was in front of Hermione now. No words could describe the emotion overcoming him this moment, or just how fast his heart beat in his chest. The joy he felt in seeing her was indescribable… It was like finally coming home.

“Hey!” He greeted her with a big smile on his face. Shock was now gone from her face. His idiotic brain thought she would now greet her warmly but instead her expression of shock morphed into one of pure and utter rage.

  
  


Without any preamble, Hermione threw the cocktail at him. 

  
  


Thanks to his perfectly honed reflexes, Harry was able to dodge it. The glass flew to the other side and smashed loudly against the floor. It had earned a collective  _ ‘opa!’ _ from some folks in the bar. 

  
  


Harry sighed in relief as he glanced at the perfectly wasted mix of alcohol and juice on the floor before he turned to look at her once more. Before he could register anything else he felt the cold shock of something splashing on his face. 

  
  


Hermione was in front of him now and had poured an entire pitcher of cocktail over his head. Someone guffawed loudly and Harry glared at Peder who was laughing at him while still sipping his stupid umbrella’d drink.

  
  


“Hermi–”

  
  


“ _ No! _ ” She practically roared, pointing her finger at him angrily. “You leave without saying goodbye, without notice and you have the fucking  _ nerve _ to just show up and say  _ hey _ ?” Hermione glared at him, “Fuck you, Harry!”

  
  


“I-” 

  
  


“ _ Mon chou chou! _ ” A familiar voice spoke from behind in an irritating sing-song voice. 

  
  


Harry turned around realizing it was the bloke who’d opened the door of Hermione’s supposed suite a while ago. “There you are! I have just been revitalized by my shower. Some afternoon we had!” He was talking directly to Hermione, completely oblivious to the tension in the room and the fury written all over her face.

  
  


Harry fought the urge to punch the idiot in the face the minute the arse had the audacity to waggle his  _ fucking perfect  _ eyebrows at her. Harry decided that he was  _ royally pissed _ now. Who was this  _ horrendous _ bloke and why was he talking to Hermione?

  
  


Harry glanced at her. She looked at the man wearing a confused expression, and then glanced back at Harry. He watched as she smiled but it wasn’t that beautiful, genuine smile that Harry dreamed about from time to time. It was actually something he had never seen. It had looked almost  _ sinister _ .

  
  


“I hope you’re ready. I’ve made a reservation at this wonderful restaurant where we can talk more about my poetry. Poetry is my passion and I have decided that you are now my muse. My sweet and sensual poetry shall be our dessert.” He said to her with a look of sickening admiration as he took her hand in his and kissed it with all the French charm in the world. 

  
  


In the background, Peder continued to laugh and Harry wished he’d  _ fucking  _ choke on the stupid mini umbrella.

  
  


All eyes were now on Hermione. She composed herself and then said, “Of course,  _ mon amour,  _ let’s go. I _ shall love _ to hear your  _ sensual _ poetry for  _ dessert _ .”

  
  


Harry followed her with his eyes in disbelief. “ _ Hermione… _ ”

  
  


But she had completely ignored him, linking her arm to the blond man’s. Harry watched in a pathetic mixture of outrage and humiliation as they waltzed out of the bar leaving him sticky and covered in  _ sex on the beach _ cocktails.


	7. Greece (part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, readers, the angst ends here. Enjoy it!

**_Greece_ **

September 2011

  
  


Hermione awoke to a feeling that she referred to as existential dread. The demolition going on inside her head could only be blamed on the amount of drinks that had entered her system all of last night. She felt like a university student who’d gone on a raucous all-night bender. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone  _ this  _ overboard with alcohol. She blamed the hotel bar for their happy hour  _ sex on the beach _ special and of course the maddening  _ people _ she’d been forced to deal with yesterday. 

  
  


She groaned when just the thought of the word  _ sex _ made her sit right up on the bed and make a frantic double-take of the space next to her on the queen-sized bed. Hermione wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be relieved or annoyed upon finding it cold and empty. Despite all the drama involving men yesterday, it turned out that the closest to  _ sex  _ she’d really gotten was the aforementioned drinks.

  
  


Her thoughts instantly shifted towards last night’s dinner with Guillaume, the Adonis-like creature her cousin had set her up with. Guillaume may have been pretty to look at but that was just about where it ended. He was immature, thought too highly of himself in a very unappealing way and worst of all, his good looks and sexiness hadn’t been enough to justify going that extra mile with a creature so shallow and whose  _ poetry _ was honestly cringe inducing. The entire dinner date and the horrid debacle at the hotel bar preceding it were something Hermione had desperately tried to wash out with an entire bottle of wine at the restaurant. The mere thought enraged her.

  
  


_ Damn _ these hormones. Damn her unfertilized eggs. Damn Fabian for even bringing up her unfertilized eggs! And most of all,  _ damn _ Harry James Potter.

  
  


After downing the whole bottle of wine, which tasted divine actually, she’d excused herself to go to the ladies’ room from where she secretly paid their bill and made the hastiest of exits, running for her life on the narrow stone-paved streets of Athens, too tipsy for her own good, and careful not to be noticed by Guillaume. She’d felt very much like a dizzy, barefooted, too-fucking-old-for-this ninja.

  
  


Hermione rubbed her face and sighed, searching for her mobile phone to look at the time. She gasped and leaped out of bed despite the pounding of her headache once she realized it was 8 am already and she was due to check-in at the airport for her flight back to London by ten.

  
  


She was beginning to gather her things that were strewn about the suite when her phone rang, and lo and behold a Spice Girls song began playing. She rolled her eyes but even in this state hadn’t the heart to not answer her cousin. Disastrous or not, Fabian’s intentions with presenting her to Guillaume had been of the best sort, and Hermione knew very well that her cousin cared for her, even though he had a downright twisted way of showing it.

  
  


“ _ Bonjour _ bun bun!” Fabian’s voice screamed out from the speaker making her headache worse.

  
  


“Hello, Fabian…” She greeted in a defeated tone.

  
  


“ _ Mon dieu,  _ I thought you’d be more enthusiastic today. The morning after bliss…” He replied, his voice trailing off suggestively. Hermione could almost picture him wiggling his perfect eyebrows.

  
  


“What are you talking about?”

  
  


“I promised you hot sex! Surely you’ve gotten it twice or more!” He replied too loudly.

  
  


“ _Twice?_ _More?_ I’m not one of your nympho friends, Fabian! I’m a proper lady! Also, this weird interest you have in my sex life is _bloody_ disturbing!” Hermione huffed as she paced around the room, rolling her eyes in irritation at her overbearing cousin. How was it that he managed to be more so than her own parents?

  
  


“ _ Hermione _ , did you just roll your eyes? I swear I can just  _ feel _ it when you do. We’re predestined for each other, it’s written in the stars. Anyway, you don’t have to be a nympho to have multiple shags in a day… Anyone who truly enjoyed their twenties would know that! So, who did you choose?” He asked.

  
  


“ _ Choose? _ ” She repeated.

  
  


“Guillaume? Or Harry?” He insisted.

  
  


“ _ Bloody _ hell! I knew it was all _ your _ doing!”

  
  


“Well of course, I’m Fabian Bell, real life cupid. Matchmaker extraordinaire. I gave you choices, Bunny. Aren’t I great?” His words were coated with such smugness that Hermione wished she possessed magical powers in order to strangle him through the phone right now.

  
  


“Absolutely n _ othing _ happened last night. I had to escape from the clutches of Guillaume. He was good-looking and all but  _ fuck _ , his poetry was like a teenage girl’s diary. In fact, I’m convinced teenage girls would most definitely be able to write better poetry. I had to leave him at the restaurant last night and ask my hotel to move me to another floor. Did you know he let himself take a shower at my suite? Who does  _ that _ !” She began to rant. “And damn it, Fabian, you didn’t tell me he was still in his 20s!” 

  
  


“ _ Late _ 20s!” He piped in.

  
  


“Still! I don’t feel comfortable dating younger men. I mean, nothing wrong with them but they make me feel like I’m their nanny or something.” She replied.

  
  


“Isn’t it every woman’s dream to be a cougar?”

  
  


“For the millionth time Fabian, I’m not like your mum! And don’t generalize!” 

  
  


“Well, you’re basically a cougar  _ now _ . You  _ did _ have a date with a younger man.”

  
  


“Fabian...I–”

  
  


“And you know I’m right, after all,  _ I’m  _ the animal expert.” Hermione made a face when she heard the absurdity of the words that escaped her cousin’s mouth. She shook her head in distaste, although she couldn’t help but laugh also. 

  
  


What would she ever do without her crazy cousin in her life? Certainly it wouldn’t be this interesting.

  
  


“Anyway, it was terrible but I still appreciate you.”

  
  


“ _ Aww _ , bun bun, how sweet you are.  _ Chérie _ , you’re nothing without me! I love you and it is my absolute dream that you’ll love me so much that you’ll name a child after me, it’s why I’m so worried about your eggs and your lack of a sex life.”

  
  


“We’re back to that again? And no, I’m not naming any child of mine after you.  _ If _ I ever reach that point in my life.”

  
  


“But how could we _not_ reach that point, Hermione?!” He asked, gasping dramatically in a show of faux-outrage. “I remember it well, it says so in your diary! We’re a bit behind schedule as you should’ve been married by now, nevermind your _silly_ doctorate’s and _etcetera_ but it’s _okay,_ we must also take into account that you were always a bit of a late bloomer.”

  
  


“You  _ read _ my diary? Fabian! I’ll bloody kill you!”

  
  


“Really, Hermione! You’re brilliant and all but could you get any more obvious? You  _ hid _ your diary  _ behind _ your Keanu Reeves shrine!” He said all too smugly. “Oh, the raptures of our youth…” He sighed nostalgically. “Anyway, so poor Guillaume is out of the picture but what of our dear Harry Potter? Sylvie did take a liking to him, I dare say...”

  
  


Hermione sighed so loudly at his question the next room likely heard it. Frustration welled up inside her, “I don’t know…”

  
  


“Well, judging from that noise I heard, you didn’t get  _ any _ . Frankly, I’m disappointed. At least Harry could’ve made it up to you!”

  
  


“Let’s not go there, _ please _ …” She honestly didn’t want to think of Harry right now.

  
  


“I’m sorry, bun bun, but I genuinely hope your day will at least be better today. I wish I could be there with you… We’re preparing to film a new version of  _ The Jungle Book _ and I’m otherwise busy with a puma.”

  
  


“I know, I know…” It was then that out of the corner of her eye Hermione spotted a _floating_ paper plane encircling her. She stared at it, furrowing her brows.

  
  


“I must go... I’ll call you again tomorrow when it’s officially your birthday! I’ll see you in London next month, yes? We’ll have a proper, fabulous belated birthday celebration.”

  
  


“Yes, we will. I can’t wait to see you again.” She said while still staring at the paper plane, distracted. She pressed the red button on her phone and tossed it on top of the bed.

  
  


She was certain this odd paper plane was just her overly-vivid imagination, or better yet a hangover hallucination. When she walked towards the other side of the room, however, the plane followed her.

  
  


“Bloody hell, what am I seeing?” She muttered. 

  
  


The paper plane flew closer and poked her on the shoulder. It was then that the realization hit her… There was only one person in this world she knew who had the ability to make a paper plane  _ actually  _ fly _. _ She caught it in her hand and plopped down on the sofa.

  
  


“ _ Splendid _ , so now he writes a bloody note... Where was this all those months ago?” The plane magicked itself into a small square shaped paper with a scrawl Hermione was all too familiar with.

  
  


_ Moneypenny, _

_ I hope it’s not too late. I hope you’ll give me another chance. I’d like to say so much more to you, but in person. It’s your decision to make though... If you think my words are worth hearing please meet me at the Kalamaki Marina, I’m staying in a cabin cruiser called The Victoria. Who knows, maybe if you come we can go for a sail. _

_ Anxiously waiting, _

_ Yours, _

_ James. _

  
  


As soon as Hermione finished reading the note she noticed something shimmer on the coffee table in front of her. This whole magic thing was fascinating to her and honestly, she wouldn’t ever grow sick of watching it all unfold. The shimmering stopped, revealing a bottle-green and gold rectangular box with a familiar logo. Hermione gasped.  _ It couldn’t be! _

  
  


She kneeled in front of the table as she took the cover off, feeling very much like a child on Christmas morning. That familiar heavenly scent made her stomach grumble and made her feel so many indescribable things at once. A tsunami of emotion and nostalgia hit her and suddenly Hermione was taken back in time.

  
  


_ Apple strudels _ . Apple  _ freaking  _ strudels from the Demel bakery. The  _ one and only _ Demel bakery in Vienna. 

  
  


To her utter happiness there were six pieces in the box. Hermione took a bite from one and it was miraculously still fresh and hot, as though it had come  _ directly _ from the bakery just seconds ago. Magic was indeed incredible...

  
  


In no time she finished the first strudel, immediately starting on another. She hadn’t eaten these in a long time. The taste, the texture, the sensation, everything that happened between their first encounters  _ then _ and  _ now _ made her feel emotional. Her bottom lip trembled and tears brimmed in her eyes.

  
  


_ Damn you, Harry James Potter. _

  
  


She was in the bathroom splashing some water on her face right after brushing her teeth and trying to make her rebellious curls somewhat presentable when she heard three knocks.

  
  


“ _ Kalimera, _ Miss Granger! Your taxi is waiting downstairs.”

  
  


Hermione felt that sick, cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had only an hour to arrive at the airport, turning her back on Athens and Harry for good.

  
  


...

“... _ Wherever you go, whatever you do I’ll be right here waiting for you, whatever it takes or how my heart breaks I will be right here waiting for you… _ ” Harry crooned along to the old Richard Marx song playing on his record player as he lounged in the cockpit of  _ The Victoria. _

  
  


All he could think about was Hermione--would she read his note? Would she come to meet him? Hell, would she ever want to see him again?

  
  


The salty wind breezed smoothly through his face and hair. It was nearly ten o’clock already, she was probably boarding on the plane to London by now. He looked out to the open, ever-blue ocean before him, glistening under the sun’s heat which today was just enough, not too glaring nor too cloudy. No hints of rain. If he were back home in England, he’d take his Firebolt out for a fly… 

  
  


His thoughts drifted to the memory of them flying over London in the night, the last time they were together, her arms wrapped impossibly tight around him due to her fear of heights. He well remembered the heat of her body against him and just how much he desired her then, body and soul, nothing in that regard changed, he still wanted her more than anything.

  
  


Harry’s mood dampened more as he remembered yesterday’s events. He frowned recalling the sticky feeling of utter humiliation, courtesy of the cocktail, and that red hot jealousy that just flared all over him when she decided to go out with that pompous frog. For a moment he’d thought to follow them afterwards but Peder had stopped him. It had been for the best really, nothing good would have come out of a fight with the French blond. Hermione would’ve only grown more cross with Harry if he’d ruined her night further. So after that failure, he refused Peder’s offer to go out and party with the locals, and instead found himself wandering the streets of Athens well into the night, walking and walking, not paying attention to where his feet led him. It was then that he noticed signs indicating beaches and a marina and somehow despite such a late hour he’d managed to rent this boat directly from the owner who'd been drinking with his mates in a tavern.

  
  


Harry barely slept last night, instead pacing around the boardwalk of the pier, racking his brain for a solution to all this mess, something that might make that stubborn, infuriating, beautiful woman forgive him, and maybe, just maybe bring things back to what they used to be. 

Harry knew that showing up at her door and making some massive speech wouldn’t cut it, she’d just find other drinks to pour over his head. He wasn’t the sort of bloke that gave epic speeches anyway, he’d never been too good with words or with showing his feelings. He knew though that a greater effort needed to be made.

  
  


It took hours more of pacing around, his feet aching, for him to come up with a plan. He’d thought so much about Vienna, Paris and even their time in London before he screwed everything up, and just the perfection of those days they’d spent together. That’s how he’d come up with the idea of the apple strudels. It was a bit mental but he knew he needed to at least try.

  
  


So around 2 am, like the mad man he was, Harry sought out a very annoyed half-asleep Peder who then led him to a local Portkey officer. Harry paid the man heavily to get ‘emergency’ round-trip portkeys. After arriving in Vienna, he spent an hour looking for the bakery. Then, he waited a bit more for the shop to open, sleep be damned. Once he was able to buy the apple strudels, he placed a charm on them so that they’d remain freshly baked and warm. He quickly portkeyed back to Athens where he finally caught a few winks and then finally set his plan in motion with the paper plane. 

  
  


He could only hope that she would read the note this time. Every once in a while he’d glance towards the dock.  _ Hoping _ that she’d come.  _ Expecting _ her. He had lost count of the times he had done that in the last few hours. 

  
  


Harry sighed and continued to wait, singing along to that god-awful song over and over again, just because it helped him express all those things he felt inside.

  
  


…

  
  


There was no denying it, the crazy Athenian traffic would never allow her to arrive at the airport on time. Her taxi driver had tried to go on an alternative route, passing through neighborhood streets instead of main avenues only to end up stuck again in a seemingly endless line of cars with sweaty, angry drivers cursing and honking incessantly because of a large tow truck that had broken down in the distance, the scorching sun not helping to ease anyone’s discomfort.

  
  


Hermione leaned further into the backseat, gazing out the window. She desperately needed to get to London. Real life, her work, her empty house, it was all there waiting for her.

  
  


She didn’t want London though, not now, not today. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach, in the way her hands were abnormally cold, in the way that her heart ached and breathing was so very hard the more she grew further away from town and from Harry.

  
  


Minutes passed and it seemed that traffic police had come in and fixed the issue of the tow truck, the cars started moving again, the streetlights going green. A sensation of utter terror soon overcame her and before she could articulate any coherent thoughts, her mouth moved faster.

  
  


“Stop!” She shouted, startling her driver who pressed deep into the breaks. The car behind them honked and sweared at them, he could’ve hit the back of their car. “Please, stop. I-I can’t go to the airport.”

  
  


“No?” The driver asked, with a mix of irritation and shock.

  
  


“Please, turn this car around, do something… I- Please take me to the Kalamaki Marina.”

  
  


“Missus, we’re nearly at the airport…”

  
  


“I’ll pay double!” He nodded and began signalling for the other cars to allow him passages so that he could get on the return route.

  
  


Hermione felt her heart leaping impossibly within her chest with each mile that brought her closer to him. Her driver dropped her off at the main entrance of the marina, in the end satisfied with the good sum of money she’d paid him. He helped Hermione retrieve her suitcases from the boot and gave two short honks as he drove off, his way of saying ‘good luck’.

  
  


She then set off to look for Harry’s boat, dragging her luggage behind her with some difficulty. It didn’t take her long to find. She approached the boat and didn’t see him on deck. She reckoned he was inside the cabin, since she could hear music playing quite loud. When she finally stepped onto the boat, she paused for a moment to pay attention to the music, which became louder and clearer with each step. She managed to drag her suitcases to a corner of the deck and couldn’t help but cringe when she realized that the song playing was one of those songs her aunt, Fabian’s mother, used to play every time a divorce was finalized.

  
  


She took off her sandals which were digging into her flesh anyway and set them beside his pair of boots by the door. She entered the boat barefoot and as quiet as a mouse.

  
  


She thought she might get angry again upon seeing him but the vision of his back to her, body swaying while the cheesy love song played and him singing along to it dramatically, made it impossible. She could tell he was busying himself in the kitchen. His voice wasn’t good but it wasn’t terrible either. Perhaps if he managed to hold in his tears...

  
  


For some reason this made her laugh. She laughed loud and uncontrollably, holding on to the boat’s wall for support as tears started to pool in her eyes, tears of pure mirth. Her heart beat wildly in her chest.

  
  


Harry noticed her presence of course, he heard her laughing and the shock on his face. That beautiful, pure and joyful smile that erupted on his face just about took her breath away.

  
  


“You came!” He whispered, dumbfounded. She couldn’t hear him because of the music but she’d read it on his lips.

And then she launched herself into his arms, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He held onto her, she could feel his quick pulse against her skin.

  
  


He took a step back and held her face in his hands, tucking her wild curls behind her ears. The stupid song kept playing on loop and tears filled her eyes just like they filled his.

  
  


None of them knew quite what to say.

  
  


…

  
  


She made herself comfortable on the large chair by the window, her laptop open in front of her but no particular desire to write just now. Dozens of emails tagged ‘Urgent’ littered her inbox, all of them from her agent and BBC producers, inquiring on her return.

  
  


“I’d prefer to cook in complete privacy…” He trailed off wearing a smirk, preparing the counter for this afternoon’s lunch. It was just roast beef and tomato sandwiches but for some reason Harry was making a big deal out of it.

  
  


Hermione scoffed, “Sorry, but I’m not missing the show-- you’re the only bloke I know capable of cooking like a Disney princess.”

  
  


“What are Disney princesses anyway?” He asked.

  
  


Hermione rolled her eyes at him, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “We desperately need to get you better at pop culture, James. All that Richard Marx music isn’t healthy. Keep going at this rate and you’ll never be able to hold a conversation for longer than five minutes.”

  
  


“Why would I want that when you already do all the heavy tongue-twisting?” The grin on his face was so smug Hermione had to fight the urge to get up and smack him.

  
  


“We should go out after eating, it’s a lovely day and we never get this kind of sunshine at home.” She changed the subject.

  
  


“Are you really leaving tomorrow?” He questioned. 

  
  


Hermione sighed and nodded. “Real life beckons, I’m afraid. They’re letting it slide so to speak because tomorrow is my birthday… I’ll need to be there first thing after.” 

  
  


“I never wanted to leave you that night, Moneypenny…” Harry blurted out.

  
  


Hermione’s face changed upon hearing his words, her expression becoming more serious, shoulders tensing. She swallowed. “And I never wanted you to.”

  
  


…

  
  


A while later, Hermione managed to successfully drag Harry out of the boat after they ate their sandwiches. She wasn’t ready yet to be completely alone with him inside, as if her desire for him and the hurt feelings she still harbored mixed together might devour her. 

  
  


They walked all through the Alimos neighborhood, surrounded by the clear blue sea, houses and taverns about. They stopped to buy ice lollies from a street vendor, as well as water before continuing their path through modern-day Athens. Harry regaled her with stories about his school years-- the good bits--and told her about his friends and godson Teddy, how he loved the boy almost as if he were his son. They had a few good laughs comparing the ups and downs of their teenage adventures, awkward first kisses, dates, the likes.

  
  


By the time the afternoon was nearly over they were in the Plaka neighborhood again, temples and ruins towering over them up on the hills. Harry explained to her that the Parthenon was only ruins to non-magical people and that within it was the Hellenic Ministry of Magic, the entire building full of life and intact. Apparently the temple had been given a rehab centuries ago but that was invisible to muggle eyes.

  
  


They stopped to sit on a bench for a bit, he had put what he called a charm on her sandals so they wouldn’t give her calluses or hurt her. Hermione was thankful, for all that they looked pretty and made her legs look longer, they were uncomfortable.

  
  


"Where are you taking me for dinner,  _ James _ ?" Hermione asked. 

  
  


The sky was now a tinge of orange, red, and yellow, the sun already setting. 

  
  


Nor Harry nor Hermione had really noticed how time had easily swept by. Their afternoon had felt much longer. 

  
  


"Already hungry?" He teased.

  
  


"Don’t be daft, it's time for dinner." She retorted, gazing at the many cafés and shops that were surrounding them. They were at an area filled with tourists who all seemed to be crowding up for a meal. Hermione scrunched up her nose. She honestly would prefer something quieter, more local, something completely opposite from last night's fancy dinner date with Guillaume. "I don't think we’ll be able to find a table so easily without reservations..." She looked back at Harry, hopeful though. He had a tendency to surprise her and she hoped now there’d be one. 

  
  


Her stomach grumbled and Harry only smirked at her. "I haven’t made any reservations but I think I know where we could eat. I passed in front of this little tavern last night, after you bathed me in cocktails.” He chuckled at the memory and even Hermione had to laugh. It was quite legendary, looking back. “Let’s go, Moneypenny..."

  
  


" _ More _ walking?" She complained dramatically.

  
  


"Come on, it's not too far." He tugged her hand and started to lead the way.

  
  


Hermione relented. “It better be close indeed! You don’t want a taste of tired  _ and  _ famished me! Things a lot worse than pouring cocktails over your head could happen!” She threatened playfully.

  
  


“Can I be totally honest with you?”

  
  


“Hmm?”

  
  


“You’re absolutely sexy when you’re angry.” Hermione’s cheeks turned a bright red. She linked her arm with his as they went. “Scary but sexy.”

  
  


They walked through a narrow alley at an older district then down a few stairsteps until they arrived at a small courtyard. The courtyard had white rustic tables and chairs around and were surrounded by a few trees with charming fairy lights strewn all over. There were hanging halogen lamps that contributed to the warm glow of the area. A few patrons were already seated, some being served with food by casually-dressed waiters who’d come out from an opened basement of the nearby building. 

  
  


Hermione glanced over and read the signage  _ 'Taverna Delphini' _ . She'd never really heard of this place.

  
  


"Inside or outside?" Harry asked. The delicious waft of home-cooked food was spreading in and Hermione could feel herself nearly salivating. 

  
  


"Outside is lovely." She answered. Harry nodded. They were greeted by a server who walked them towards a free table in a more private corner, under the shade of the tree.

  
  


" _ Kalispera _ , how may I serve you tonight?" The server asked. 

  
  


" _ Kalispera, mas fernete enan katalogo, parakalo? _ " Hermione said, receiving a surprised look from both the server and Harry.

  
  


“You speak Greek too?” Harry looked at her amused. The server had left to get the menu.

  
  


“Ancient Greek mostly because I learned at boarding school and then university. Modern Greek, sadly not fluent but I’ve managed to learn quite a bit the last few months… It’s a beautiful language.” She answered.

  
  


"I think so too," Was all he replied as the server returned with the menu, his eyes fixed on hers. Harry leaned in, taking her hand in his, though unlike how things went with Guillaume the day previous, Hermione’s hand in Harry’s felt like it belonged.

  
  


Their server had to clear his throat to grab their attention and Hermione who wasn’t the sort who blushed found her cheeks were burning hot. She pulled her hand from Harry’s and the git smiled that lopsided smile that always made her insides melt.

  
  


“I’ll have a moussaka, a souvlaki, and the Greek salad with a lot of feta cheese.” Hermione announced once she had poured over the menu. Harry chuckled at her. “What? I’m hungry.”

  
  


Harry only shrugged, still smiling, “I’ll have the same minus the salad.” 

  
  


The server took note of their orders. “And how about your drinks? We have our very own retsina wine.”

  
  


Hermione considered it for a moment. She didn’t think it was wise to drink alcohol especially considering how much she’d drank yesterday. She certainly didn’t want to be under the influence with Harry right in front of her. She was intent in not breaking the very few resolves she had left. They hadn’t after all had the talk yet… It appeared the right moment never came up and it was far too easy and delicious to fall into old patterns.

  
  


“I’ll have a Coca-Cola with ice and a slice of lemon, please.” She answered, handing the menu back. 

  
  


“And you, sir?”

  
  


“A bottle of Stella Artois, please.” He answered.

  
  


"Your food will be ready in about half an hour." The server said with a polite grin, turning around and leaving them to it.

  
  


The atmosphere around the courtyard was quaint and pleasant, one might say it was even romantic. The ambience of  _ Delphini’s _ was more one of an intimate gathering rather than that of a restaurant filled with strangers and noise. Everyone looked friendly and in a nice mood. Soft bouzouki music was playing from the inside, and if one closed their eyes and took it all in, it felt as if a band was really there. There was no other word to describe  _ Taverna Delphini _ other than peaceful. It was all Hermione needed to slip her sandals off under the table and relax.

  
  


She glanced at Harry only to notice how he stared at her so intensely with those emerald eyes. She felt heat build up inside her.

  
  


“ _ Harry? _ ” She said quietly. He didn’t seem to hear her. “Harry…” She leaned forward and poked him on the shoulder.

  
  


“W-what?” He blinked.

  
  


“You spaced out.”

  
  


“I couldn’t help it.”

  
  


“Couldn’t help what?”

  
  


“Looking at you... You look so  _ beautiful _ in this light, like a vision almost. I can’t get my head straight...” He answered, his voice trailing off. She could tell he was being sincere and not just trying to be a flirt.

  
  


The heat inside her was now rushing onto her cheeks and she would not have that, him charming her that way like his sudden departure in London never happened. She slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  
  


“Oi, what was that for? I give you a compliment and you hit me?” He sobered and raised an eyebrow. The server had arrived with their meals.

  
  


“I just–just  _ don’t _ distract me,” she answered, licking her lips allowing the display of scrumptious food to distract her from his infuriating self. She started with the souvlaki, taking the meat and dipping it into the tzatziki.

  
  


Harry was about to say something but stopped himself. He saw the way she licked her lips and it made him stare at it for quite a bit. He could easily spend the rest of his years looking at her while she ate.

  
  


For the better part of the time, they concentrated on their meal while they stole glances at each other. Harry could feel there was something different tonight, like a silent prelude to something he couldn’t exactly wrap his finger around.

  
  


“ _ Kalispera,  _ how was your meal?” A pudgy man approached them as they were finishing. He was tanned and had curly salt and pepper hair that matched his moustache.

  
  


“ _ Kalispera _ , it was lovely. Probably the best moussaka I’ve ever eaten.” Hermione complimented. Harry nodded along as he finished his second bottle of beer.

  
  


“My name is Yorgos, I have been running this little restaurant since my father left it to me twenty years ago.” He spoke in a warm accented voice. “I like to go around and talk to my customers, if you don’t mind. What are your names, where are you from?”

  
  


Hermioned nodded. “I'm Hermione and he's--”

  
  


“James,” Harry interrupted, preventing her from revealing his real name. “We’re from England.”

  
  


“Ah, pleasure to meet you, James! And  _ Hermione! _ Beautiful, strong Greek name!” He exclaimed, “daughter of Eleni of Sparta… They say of Troy but that’s misinformation.” Yorgos trailed off with a chuckle. “I've been to London a few times. Is it your first time here in Athens?” Yorgos asked enthusiastically. 

  
  


"Not really." Harry answered. 

  
  


"I've actually been here for the last few months, for work. Going home tomorrow." Hermione replied. 

  
  


"And I've only arrived yesterday." Harry added. 

  
  


Yorgos gave a slight frown. "Oh that's too bad. You two should really go and see the other islands. Spend more time together… Greece is very romantic."

  
  


A server approached them bearing desserts. " Galaktoboureko  on the house." Yorgos announced. The dessert in question consisted of a delicious custard pie served in cool squares, perfect for a warmer evening such as this one.

  
  


"Thank you!" Hermione said all too brightly as she attacked her dessert. 

  
  


She nearly choked when Yorgos continued the conversation with a question: "How long have you been together?" 

  
  


She gulped down water and eyed Harry who had a devilish glint in his eyes.

  
  


“Almost five years.” Harry said in a matter of fact tone. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him knowing it was far from the truth. What was he doing? He couldn’t possibly be drunk after just two beers. She wanted to react but Yorgos’ features had softened over them and she had no inclination to ruin the restaurant owner’s night.

  
  


“Love is beautiful! Congratulations, may you have many more years together.” He clapped his hands together, “And children?”

  
  


Harry straightened up and smirked, Hermione braced herself for the answer. “We have two actually.”

  
  


“ _ Two?! _ ” Hermione piped softly, her eyes widening. She doubted she was heard.

  
  


Because revenge was a plate best served cold, Hermione switched her now empty dessert dish for Harry’s untouched one, which earned her a piercing glare from him. She fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him like some little girl and ignored him, a Cheshire cat’s smile on her face.

  
  


“Ah! Tell me about them. I have four myself but all grown up now and with children. I have seven grandchildren, thank God. All of them beautiful.” Yorgos informed them proudly.

  
  


“We have twin girls, beautiful but absolute nightmares,  _ Amaryllis _ and  _ Iolanthe _ .” Harry said, stressing their over-the-top names. “We’re on vacation from them!” Yorgos laughed soundly, taking it for the well-humored dad joke that it intended to be.

  
  


“ _ Amaryllis and Iolanthe _ ” Hermione parroted, putting down her teaspoon quite taken aback. She'd like to know how he came up with those names and  _ why _ she as the mother hadn’t a weigh-in. The audacity of him!

  
  


Harry winked at her, then brought his attention back to Yorgos. “We kept with our family traditions in naming our children. The women of my family are named after flowers and on Hermione’s side they have very uncommon Greek names.”

  
  


“Greek names are the best names, you chose so well!” Yorgos commented.

  
  


Harry’s reasoning behind the names was surprising and sweet, flattering even. Almost as if he’d put a lot of thought into them. Hermione let those names sit in,  _ Amaryllis and Iolanthe  _ \-- absolute nightmares to spell, difficult to pronounce, completely and utterly perfect. Before she could catch herself she was falling into the rabbit hole of her deepest desires.  _ Daughters... _ She could almost picture them.

  
  


“...right, love?” Harry looked at her.

  
  


“Excuse me, what?” She had to ask, her thoughts far away.

  
  


“I was telling Yorgos over here how much Millie and Io look like you.” 

  
  


_ Millie and Io… _ Chubby cheeks and wild dark curls, freckles, giggles, barefoot on the grass...

  
  


Yorgos’ attention was all on her as Hermione played along: “They really took after me, yeah. Sometimes I feel bad for them because they got our hair and we both have such  _ dreadful _ hair…” She pointed out, her eyes locking with Harry’s. “The girls have Harry’s eyes though, beautiful,” She blurted out, “and they love stories… Millie has a huge appetite and Iolanthe loves music.”

  
  


“They got that from their mum.” He grinned at her, “But they’re always in trouble and finding mischief, so I’m afraid that’s where my genes come in.” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, her eyes sparkling.

  
  


“They must be adorable little girls!” Yorgos complimented, patting Harry on the shoulder. “What a lucky man you are!”

  
  


“Yeah, I can’t complain… We’re now working on number three, hopefully a little boy this time-- _ Fabian. _ , we’ll call him. _ ” _ Hermione who had been drinking up the last of her Coke just about choked on her drink, reaching desperately for a napkin while trying to hold in her laughter, Harry’s own was no help.

  
  


Yorgos, the poor restaurant-owner was dumbstruck, he had no idea why the name Fabian was so funny.

  
  


They continued to play along to their little fantasy but by the time they left Yorgos’ restaurant Hermione couldn’t help but feel a sadness slowly build up in her chest. They continued to walk around, it was impossible not to, the streets were so narrow in this part of Athens that only pedestrians, bikes and the odd vespa could pass. The night was beautiful though, and neither she nor Harry were inclined to return to the boat yet. 

  
  


A sudden feeling of  _ realization _ struck her. The entire time they’d talked and joked about their hypothetical twins back in the restaurant it had made her feel uneasy deep down. It wasn’t the game of it, or the fact that they were telling lies to a man they’d probably never see again but rather because it was just too close to home. In just a few hours Hermione would be thirty-three and all that she and Harry described to Yorgos was what she so terribly desired. She and Harry, Amaryllis, and Iolanthe… A family.

  
  


She glanced at Harry, seeming so at peace, so  _ normal. _ Was their relationship just a little game to him? Free company and amusement for when he was on break from his stupid missions? The insecurities began to gnaw at her like hungry monsters. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, having forgotten her favorite shawl back on the boat.

  
  


“Are you cold?” Harry asked her.

  
  


“Not really.” She answered stiffly. She suddenly felt something warm envelop her. She looked at him.

  
  


“The advantages of magic...” Harry smiled, moving closer to try and wrap his arm around her but she moved away before he could. He frowned. She looked away immediately. Maybe this was a bad idea... Maybe she should have gotten on that flight to London after all.

  
  


“Hermione?” He called out to her but she didn’t answer back. She looked over to several people who were lining up. She followed them to a public square where a huge screen was set up. It looked like there would be an outdoor viewing of a film. She approached the mobile booth set up in front where they had displayed the poster. Her eyes widened at the title and the actors on the billing.

  
  


‘ _ Theseus and the Minotaur’ (1936) starring Cynthia Bell and Laurence Olivier. _

  
  


“Hermione?” Harry had caught up with her. He followed her gaze onto the black and white poster. “Oh, wow. Isn’t that your grandmother?” Hermione could only nod. 

  
  


She was a bit surprised to be honest. She didn’t expect any of her grandmother’s films to make its way to Athens, especially this particular title. She remembered how this was one of Cynthia Bell’s pre-war roles and how this was before she had made a name for herself. To Hermione, it was both crazy and amazing to know that her grandmother’s breakthrough role in a film was alongside the legendary  _ Laurence Olivier _ . She sighed. She hadn’t seen this movie since she was fourteen.

  
  


“Hermione?” Harry called out to her. She hadn’t noticed he’d been gone for a moment.

  
  


“Yes? Sorry. I was distracted.” She replied.

  
  


“I could tell! But hey, I know what we’re doing next...” He showed her two tickets. 

  
  


“Are you sure? We can always go back to the boat.” She said.

  
  


“It’s still too early and I’d love to see this. It’s your grandmother!” He answered excitedly.

  
  


She smiled despite herself, “All right. Lead the way.” 

  
  


“By the way, I told the organizers you’re Cynthia Bell’s granddaughter.” He grinned.

  
  


“ _ You did what? _ ” She froze.

  
  


“And they’d love for you to say a few words before the film starts.” 

  
  


“I…” She thought of how nerve-wracking it would be. All she’d wanted was a quiet evening for fuck’s sake.

  
  


“Bad idea?” He asked, seeing the look on her face.

  
  


She shook her head. “No, it’s just that you caught me by surprise.” She bit her lip and looked towards the gathering crowd and the large projection screen ahead. “I suppose I could say something about Granny... To honour her memory.”

  
  


“Great! They told me to lead you over there so that they can give you the microphone and all that. Let’s go!” He took her hand. She sighed and went along. They walked towards the booth where the sound engineer was preparing the microphone.

  
  


“Hello! Thanks for doing this, wow. Umm, I’ll set this up on the mic stand. We’ve still got fifteen or so minutes until we start the film. You can just go in front of the screen and say a few words, as short or as long as you like. Very simple.” The sound engineer explained, “This is just so amazing! How did you know we’d be showing her movie? Did you read about it online?” Hermione shook her head.

  
  


“Pure coincidence.”

  
  


“Good luck, Moneypenny! You’ll do splendid!” Harry exclaimed, giving her two thumbs up, smiling like a little boy in a candy shop.

  
  


Hermione waited to the side, her hands sweating cold from the nerves, butterflies flying about her belly. She breathed in and out systematically, trying to calm herself the way her granny had taught her when she was younger.  _ ‘Breathing is the only thing that will get you through the stage fright, my little Owl.’ _

  
  


A smiling young man from the production team announced to the public that Cynthia Bell’s granddaughter was coincidentally with them that evening and would grace them with a few words. The public applauded and soon he was motioning for her to make her entrance. She took a second to look at herself in her pocket mirror, thankful her lipstick wasn’t smudged and that her hair looked rather nice as it was pinned up like that, loose honey-colored curls crowning her face.

  
  


“Good evening everyone…” She greeted, her nervousness quite evident in the beginning. Hermione looked upwards to the dark, starry night, and the lights hanging on the large tree, breathing in again. “I’m Hermione and I’m extremely lucky to have had Cynthia Bell, this beautiful, incredible woman as my grandmother. And what a happy coincidence that I happened to be here tonight in the screening of her very first movie… I believe this was filmed in 1936 before the war changed the whole world completely and her life especially. Cynthia Bell was seventeen when she played Princess Ariadne, it was her first role in a film. Before that she had only ever been in theater and overall she wasn’t  _ that _ experienced. There was something moving and fascinating about her, though, so much that it seemed to have caught Sir Laurence Olivier’s eye, and the rest is history... I watched  _ Theseus and The Minotaur _ for the first time at age fourteen. I had never seen my granny on screen before. To me she was just my grandmother, like most of us have our grandmothers. She was a great baker, loved listening to music, reading, knitting, crosswords puzzles... She was great with languages too and loved traveling. I don’t think there’s a single person in this world who made such an impact in my life and in who I am. She taught me through her example what it was to be a modern woman - how to be strong, brave, hard-working, and most of all resilient in the face of adversity, but without ever losing the tenderness.” 

  
  


Hermione paused for a moment, hoping the public weren’t yet completely bored. Seeing that on the contrary they were in fact interested, she continued:

  
  


“When you look at a face as beautiful as hers it’s hard to imagine she ever suffered or had it hard, but she did... My granny was stationed in France during the war in this huge manor that was made by the Germans into a work camp. Cold winters, barely any food, no way to contact her family and a crippling fear of not coming out alive. She was twenty-one when she got in and twenty-four when she got out, leading the women of the work camp in their resistance to the nazis. Despite such dire times, Cynthia Bell fell in love, had her heart broken, fell in love again, rebuilt her career, won an Oscar, became a mum, became my granny, and then became the ultimate love of my life, my absolute idol. I remember her telling me before she died,  _ ‘Hermione, the greatest role I ever played was that of your grandmother. All the mistakes I made with my daughters I made sure not to make with you. That, and that lovely Empress Theodora, got me an Oscar and a Golden Globe! Never the weak roles, Hermione.’” _ Harry could see Hermione had tears in her eyes as she repeated those words with an intonation that was different from her own, probably channeling her grandmother’s way of speaking. “Loving, headstrong, a slight bit mysterious, and perhaps too dramatic for her own good,  _ that _ was Cynthia Bell, one of the greatest women and artists this world has ever seen.” The crowd applauded enthusiastically and Hermione thanked them, walking off the improvised stage to sit next to Harry.

  
  


“I thought I’d pass out.” Hermione whispered to him. She felt a sudden urge to hold his hand and entwine their fingers together. It soothed her, made her feel complete.

  
  


“You’re just as incredible as your grandmother, Moneypenny…” He complimented, nudging her with his shoulder. “I’m sure she’d be very proud of you.” 

  
  


Just then the movie started and they leaned closer to one another for comfort. Hermione allowed herself to take pleasure in it, though the same thoughts and insecurities that had begun to haunt her while they left the tavern continued to float around her mind.

  
  


How could a person make her so utterly happy and so utterly miserable all at once?

  
  


…

  
  


When the last scene of the movie rolled on Harry felt Hermione increasingly tense beside him, like the magic of this evening was fading away. In the scene, her grandmother’s character, the princess Ariadne was left stranded on an island alone, her lover having deceived her, sailing to Athens without her. Ariadne fell onto the sandy shore of the beach crying her terrible fate. She had betrayed her father the king of Crete for love and now she had nothing and no one. Theseus arrived back in Athens victorious and a king due to his father’s passing. The heartbreak and ruin he’d caused Princess Ariadne not seeming to faze him in the slightest.

  
  


Hermione’s fingers which were entwined with his slipped out of his hold. It was the simplest and tamest of touches but he terribly missed it.

  
  


The credits rolled up on the movie and all the people who’d gathered to watch it now applauded enthusiastically, some even whistled. The ending wasn’t necessarily happy but Harry supposed it was fine, what with the Greeks’ track record for tragedies… He did feel sorry for Ariadne though, she was the highlight of the movie.

  
  


Hermione rose from her chair pulling on her jacket and fetching her purse. Her eyes were dark, her lips pursed together. She avoided looking at him at all costs.

  
  


“I’m tired, we should go.”

  
  


“Hermione, your granny was brilliant in that movie…” he complimented, trying hard to express cheerfulness in dire hopes that it would settle her nerves. “You look a lot like her.”

  
  


“Can’t you pop us back to the boat?” She asked him, ignoring everything else that he’d said once they entered a dark and empty alley.

  
  


Harry sighed heavily and pulled her by the waist against him. She squirmed away from his hold as if he were some kind of disgusting piece of goo. It pained him to see her like that, like some scared and wounded animal being hounded by its hunter.

  
  


“Hermione, I need to hold you so we can  _ disapparate _ .” She scowled. 

  
  


Hermione’s feet hurt too much from all their walking, she had no energy left in her to go searching for a taxi or even to go walking to the metro station. She begrudgingly linked her arm with his, closing her eyes and feeling the intense nausea take over her.

  
  


Once they arrived back on  _ The Victoria _ , an odd calmness spread throughout. Harry finally noticed that Hermione had gone too quiet for comfort. He looked at her, worrying whether apparating had made her feel too sick. There was nothing on her face that indicated what she was feeling.

  
  


For most of the day, they had enjoyed spending time with each other, things had almost felt as light and easy as they had been in their previous encounters. However, later on this feeling in his gut started intensifying, like something major between them had shifted... Maybe she was just tired, he tried to reason. Hell, he himself hadn’t slept a wink and it was starting to get to him! Perhaps both of them had been too overwhelmed by the roller-coaster of emotions packed in these less than 24 hours. 

  
  


They hadn’t seen each other for a long time, which was a whole issue within itself. Harry’s hasty departure back in London and the rift that it caused between them, the not being able to write back and forth, had made the entirety of these nine months feel much longer than they truly were.

  
  


Harry waited for her to do or say something but all Hermione did was march inside the cabin, an imaginary gray cloud over her head. Harry sighed as he followed her in. There were sleeping arrangements to be discussed and this boat only had the one bedroom… Perhaps it wouldn’t even be an issue if he hadn’t completely messed up the last time.

  
  


Merlin knew how much he’d longed for her in Japan. Harry had tried so hard not to think about her but it was impossible. Her scent, the texture of her hair, her light snores, the softness of her skin, that golden glow of the street lamps streaming into the bedroom through the curtains…  _ That _ was his heaven right there.  _ That _ was the fuel which allowed him to survive through the danger and the torture he’d been through; it was  _ that _ . Being with her, feeling her presence and her warmth, it was what had gotten him through it all. Harry wasn’t at all unfamiliar with near-death experiences but for the first time in his life he had a reason not to go. He wanted more than anything for her to know that.

  
  


“Hermione, I-” He started but was immediately interrupted by Hermione’s roaring in frustration. Suddenly she was on to him, shoving him, though to him it was nothing at all. Harry didn’t know what was happening. He held her but she continued to push him away, her eyes wild and her face red in a mix of anger and sadness.

  
  


“ _ Damn you _ , Harry Potter!” She cursed him, fighting the tears that were pooling in her eyes.

  
  


Dread began to wash over him. “Hermione, look, I’m sorry about London... I-you have no idea how much I’d like to go back and fix everything. I know there are no excuses, you’ve got to understand that...”

  
  


“ _ No! _ ” She exclaimed with a shake of her head. “No. it’s not about  _ that _ anymore.”

  
  


“Then what is it?” He asked her, pinned as he was against one of the boat’s inner walls.

  
  


She scoffed, “The fact that you have to ask… There’s no point in telling you.”

  
  


“Just tell me, please.” He said, weakly. He tried to move closer to her but she backed away.

  
  


“I don’t think I can do this right now.” He watched as she disappeared out of the cabin and onto the deck, his eyes wide with shock.

  
  


Hermione lost control of her tears when she went out on the deck. Above, the stars were shining brightly and beyond was the deep dark sea, a look into the unknown. It all looked breathtakingly beautiful and mysterious. The night was splendid and would otherwise be perfect were it not the fact that the current situation wasn’t ideal. This was something she would terribly miss when returning to London. The chance to be away from things for a moment… She hugged herself and tried to control her breathing in order to calm herself.

  
  


Moments later she heard him approaching her from behind.

  
  


“Hermione…” He spoke but she shook her head. He didn’t press on.

  
  


“Amaryllis and Iolanthe.” She said, her back still to him as she gazed at the ocean. There was an edge in her tone. That sensation of yearning burning brighter inside mixed along with frustration. “I didn’t think two names could affect me so much. I didn’t think that two people who didn’t exist could bother me so much. Do you know why?” She turned around and finally looked at him. 

  
  


Harry seemed far away, almost unreachable, and it gave out a pang in her chest. He listened to her in silence.

  
  


“Because I didn’t know I could ever want something so much.” She continued. “When we were talking about them at the restaurant I was so easily convinced that they were real, it all sounded so natural... Then I looked at you and realized it was probably just a joke to you. To confuse someone for amusement. That hurt a lot. It made me feel so alone, and I just wanted to know, Harry, because I’m so  _ bloody  _ tired of what we’re doing. It’s like we’re doing some stupid childish game. Meeting up once a year and then acting like nothing happened during the rest of it. I felt like I was chasing something I’d never be able to catch. I want to know right now, Harry. I want to know if you have ever stopped to consider if there could be  _ more  _ between us. I mean, are we even on the same page?”

  
  


She waited for a response but Harry was absolutely frozen in place, his expression dumbfounded and speechless.

  
  


“I see…” She said bitterly as she wiped down her tears. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected us to be.”

  
  


She walked over to the other side of the boat while Harry continued to just stand there in an almost maddening silence. The wind howled. She sat on the side, leaning against the handrail, looking out towards the dark water.

  
  


Lots of things went through Harry’s head. She was just in front of him. She had just told him that she wanted to do all the things he also wanted to do… How could he possibly react? And now she’d mistaken it for him not caring but it was the total and complete opposite. Harry  _ did  _ care. He cared so much, in fact, that just last night he had to reevaluate his entire life because of her. He would never again feel complete without Hermine. It terrified him though, thinking about all that he’d have to give up and sacrifice to be with her and be the man she deserved. It wasn’t easy, one way or another.

  
  


He thought of how his thoughts were always of her. He thought of how he never wanted to let go of her. He thought of how he wasn’t doing enough because it had seemed like she was just fading from him now and he couldn’t bear to lose her. 

  
  


He paced for a while then glanced at her.

  
  


Hermione was still looking out towards the sea when she felt him coming near her. She looked up at him, now standing beside her. Her breath hitched as she waited for whatever he was going to do. Harry didn’t say anything. Instead, he held his hand out to her, his green eyes piercing. She looked at it for a moment then took it. He pulled her up and closer. One false step and she might fall into the sea. The strong wind blew at her curls, she felt cold all of a sudden but his touch was entirely warm.

  
  


He was directly in front of her, their eyes nearly levelled. Her emotions jumbled at the close proximity. The next thing he did was let go of her hand to touch her elsewhere. His fingertips trailed gently along her neck then slowly up to her cheeks, leaving a trail of something like magic electricity that made her shiver. 

  
  


Harry’s touch was like fire, delicious and painful all at once. She wanted to act on the impulse but she dared not to. Hermione waited and remained still. Her heart felt like it might jump out of her body. 

  
  


The entire boat seemed more quiet now. Their breathing seemed louder, however. His hands remained on her face as he looked at her deeply, trying to drown himself with just everything of her. 

  
  


Harry wasn’t sure what he was doing but somehow it felt right to him. He closed his eyes and leaned in. Hermione's heart spun like a top. She waited for it to topple down. Eagerly waiting for the high to calm but it didn't and Harry was closer now, so close she could feel his warm, unsteady breaths against her cheek. But then he stopped. He opened his eyes to look at her again, searching, as if to ask,  _ is this alright?  _

  
  


Hermione stared deeply into his eyes and then nodded. She felt her hands roam over his shoulders, unable to decide on what to command him.  _ Yes or no? _ Should she pull him closer? Should she push him away? Harry moved closer, cautiously, and trailed his lips on her forehead. It was her turn to close her eyes this time as she relished that light feeling of his lips on her skin, such a pleasurable burn. The salty scent of the sea and the musky scent of him were euphoric. She wanted him to do  _ it _ .

  
  


His hands moved even lower now, towards her mostly exposed back due to the white summer dress that was now too revealing for the cool breeze of the night. Harry’s fingers splayed on either side of her spine. She felt his breath, hot and uneven. Hermione thought about how he should just go through with it. His lips on her lips and their burning desire…

  
  


But at the same time something  _ screamed _ inside of her making her freeze.

  
  


Harry must have felt it too because his touches faded, his hands recoiling. She half expected him to move away but it had made his resolve stronger. He held her closer.

  
  


"I want all of those things with you." He whispered, his lips were so close to her jaw that she could feel a hint of his stubble. 

  
  


She felt all air escape her lungs, gasping at his words. She had waited so long to hear those words... She leaned into his arms, feeling weightless, like she might be carried away by the wind.

  
  


Hermione didn’t say a word, just letting herself be held. She wrapped her arms around his torso, and buried her face into his neck.

  
  


…

  
  


Minutes, maybe hours later, they were still there on the deck. Harry had seated himself on a beach chair and pulled Hermione onto his lap, summoning a plush blanket from inside to warm them as they held each other, the starry sky above them.

  
  


His hand caressed the delicate skin of her arm, up and down while her fingers played with the overgrown hair behind his ear. It was finally peaceful between them, much like coming home.

  
  


“I was in Japan.” He finally told her, his voice just above a whisper. “Doing James Bond sort of stuff, undercover for nine months. They found me towards the end and I still don’t know how long they had me, I prefer not knowing… I honestly thought I would die.”

  
  


He felt her move her head upwards to look at him, worry in her eyes.

  
  


“I’m fine now, don’t worry… But being in that situation scared the shit out of me. It wasn’t the first time... I’ve told you my story,” Hermione nodded, paying attention. “I reckon it won’t be the last time either. It was different though because this time all I kept thinking about was how much I wanted to get out alive, to escape that place just to be with you. The whole time, all I could think about was you.”

  
  


“ _ Oh, Harry…”  _ He shushed her.

  
  


“Listen Hermione, this life I lead, my work... I can’t just leave it. It’s not the sort of thing where you go up to your boss and request to be let go. It’s my life on the line, it’s my face that they see, and for me to be able to be with you, for us to have a future together…” He sighed deeply, his breath shaking in a way that Hermione knew it was difficult for him to say, “I need to clear the way.” 

  
  


He paused for a long moment before continuing: “I love you Hermione, I’ve loved you since the day we met on that rainy evening in Vienna and you told me about this stupid scar you had because of your cousin’s pet badger… I need you to know that.”

  
  


“That’s a random thing to fall in love with someone over...” She said with a chuckle, that sparkle back in her eyes. Her smile was teasing, in that typical way of hers that drove him mad with affection and desire.

  
  


Harry had come  _ this _ close to losing her. Relief washed over him.

  
  


“And when did  _ you _ fall in love with me?”

  
  


“I’ve no idea… When I realized I was already at the bottom of the pit.” It was Harry’s turn to laugh.

  
  


“That cocktail thing was epic… Remind me to never say ‘hey’ again.” Hermione slapped him on the arm and he grinned at her. “I’m knackered, Moneypenny, let’s go to sleep.”

  
  


“Harry?”

  
  


“ _ Hmm? _ ”

  
  


“Now that I know we have a future, I’m good. I feel like I can wait… A year or two won’t be  _ that _ behind schedule. You clear all of your shit up though,” she warned.

  
  


“How tired are you?” He feigned worry. “It’s not like you to be so casual about things.”

  
  


“I’m a modern woman, Harry. I grew up among artists and intellectuals, all of them absolutely  _ depraved _ . There’s a lot about me you don’t know…” Harry snorted and she pretended to glare at him. “Just friends for the time being then?”

  
  


“Friends, friends, or  _ friends _ ?” He emphasized, wiggling his eyebrows.

  
  


She smiled, tiredly, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

  
  


“We can find out in the morning.”

  
  


...

  
  


It had been an enormous effort for them to get off the beach chair and prepare for bed, tired as they were. While he waited for her to come out of the tiny cabin cruiser’s shower he made the bed, making sure it was warm and fluffy enough for her. When she arrived back she was in a pair of blue pajama bottoms with drawings of little white clouds and a t-shirt that he recognized as his own. It took him aback for a moment because he hadn’t, until now recalled leaving it at her house. Nevertheless, his worn out Gryffindor quidditch t-shirt looked exquisite on her, at least to him anyway. It was stupid and it made him look like yet another lovesick puppy as Peder so often teased him but the image of her dressed in his shirt, getting ready to slip into bed, would forever stay in Harry’s memory.

  
  


She seemed to notice the way he looked at her and crossed her arms over her chest.

  
  


“Shower Mr. Potter or you’re sleeping on deck. No smelly wizards on  _ my _ bed.”

  
  


He grinned at her in that way of his and reached for the towel hanging on the back of a chair. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as he passed her, disappearing into the bathroom.

  
  


A good half-hour later he returned in his own pajamas, sweatpants and a bright purple shirt with yellow lettering that read  _ ‘Save the Nargles’ _ . His hair was damp and he’d likely forgotten his glasses in the bathroom but Hermione’s heart soared at the prospect that this was  _ it. _ Their second chance. She set her book on the small shelf next to the bed and lifted the covers for him to slip in.

  
  


“This is awfully tame…” He told her with a smirk as they lay there facing one another, “but I must admit that I’ve missed your snoring, Moneypenny. I’m quite looking forward to it.” 

  
  


Hermione’s cheeks turned a bright pink and she couldn’t help but smile like some silly girl, “it’s midnight…”

  
  


“Does that mean you’ll be turning back into a pumpkin right now?” He teased, knowing very well what she meant.

  
  


She hit him on the shoulder before snuggling into him. He wrapped his arm around her, taking in her delicious scent of vanilla and soap.

  
  


“ _ Happy Birthday, Hermione,”  _ Harry whispered to her, kissing the top of her head. “You’re my third favorite person after my godson Teddy and Her Majesty the Queen.” He felt her laughter vibrate against his chest and smiled. He was an exhausted mess of a man but  _ Merlin _ , he was madly in love.

  
  


“The Queen, Harry, really?”

  
  


“Well, you don’t have a cute Corgi so…” He trailed off, making her laugh again.

  
  


“Don’t you just love a Corgi’s butt? They’re so fluffy and adorable when they walk…” She mused.

  
  


“I’m getting you a Corgi for your next birthday, then you’ll be promoted to my second favorite...” He announced, his eyes already closed and his speech reduced to a drawl. Hermione was already snoring.

  
  


…

  
  
  


Hermione was having the most brilliant dream until it was disturbed by the first notes of The Spice Girls’  _ ‘Wannabe' _ . She was beginning to grow quite sick of it and strongly considered changing it to ‘Spice up your life’ for a few weeks. Still she couldn’t help but groan. Without opening her eyes she immediately reached for her phone at the side only for her hand to reach something hard and warm. She opened her eyes. 

  
  


" _ Mmm… _ Being groped by you is  _ definitely  _ the best way to wake up, Moneypenny..." Harry’s voice was raw and husky and it was honestly too damn early for Hermione to be already feeling this warm and fuzzy. 

She couldn’t resist running her fingers up and down his toned chest though, just for the sake of feeling it and to make sure he was truly there beside her. 

  
  


"Keep doing that and I won't be able to control myself..." He brought himself closer to her. Her head was on his chest, relishing the warmth of his body. She felt him kiss her hair. 

  
  


"Happy Birthday," He murmured. 

  
  


"Thank you," She looked up at him. There was always something about his eyes. She could look at them for the rest of her life. She realized how much she wanted this so much, waking up next to him everyday.  _ Was this all really happening? _

  
  


"What are you thinking?" He asked when he noticed she'd gone quiet. She felt heat rushing onto her cheeks, she levelled her view now at his chest. 

  
  


"I was wondering what nargles are..." She referred to his shirt. 

  
  


" _ Oh. _ I don't know either. You'll have to ask my friend Luna, she insists they exist but no one’s ever seen them... She gave me this shirt." He replied, leaning on his arm to get a better view of her.

  
  


"Luna? First time I've heard of her..." She said, realizing how she still didn't know much about his life. 

  
  


"Luna's a really good friend, we went to school together. Maybe we should set up something back in London. You could meet her and my other friends. You could meet Teddy!" He replied with enthusiasm.

  
  


Hermione smiled, "I'd love that."

  
  


"Yeah?" 

  
  


"Yeah. I was–" She was cut off by her phone again and muttered a little curse under her breath. "It's Fabian, I better answer."

  
  


Harry gave her an amused smile and handed her the phone, lazily stretching on the bed.

"HERMIONE JEAN!" Her eardrums nearly popped when she answered. 

  
  


"Good morning,  _ Fabian _ ." She answered in a serious tone. 

  
  


Harry laughed softly, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes, making him look like he was up to something.

  
  


"I've been calling you. I was seriously thinking about reporting you as a missing person." He chastised.

  
  


"That's quite overdramatic." She rolled her eyes. 

  
  


"There's that eye roll again!" Fabian exclaimed. "And it's  _ not _ overdramatic, Bunny. I was genuinely concerned. Have you any idea what time it is?"

  
  


She hadn't bothered to look at the time yet, "Um, no."

  
  


"Well, bun bun, it's 11am Athens time which means it’s 1pm here! You never oversleep! I called your phone in Wandsworth and no answers either... I was beginning to think you had drank all your sorrows away and died in a ditch somewhere."

  
  


"That’s an interesting tale you created in your head over there, Fabian. I'm not like that." She glanced at Harry who was beginning to leave the bed. 

  
  


_ Wait here _ , he mouthed to her before leaving the room. 

  
  


" _ Anyway _ , Happy Birthday, Bunny. I love you so much dear cousin. You may be old now but you still have time to give birth to  _ petit _ Fabian. You've got around 15 years until menopause..." He casually added. 

  
  


"That’s a horrible thing to remind a person of on their birthday you prick, and for the millionth time, I am  _ not _ naming any offspring of mine Fabian!"

  
  


"Hey I wanted our son to be called Fabian!" Harry exclaimed as he returned carrying a breakfast tray. Hermione turned to look at him. There was coffee in a Moka pot and a dessert plate with the last of the apple strudels, though this time it had a candle on top.

  
  


"Happy Birthday, love." He greeted her again, moving forward to give a light kiss on edge of her mouth. 

  
  


" _ Mmm… _ " The smell of the coffee, strudel, and  _ him _ was honestly just too intoxicating.

  
  


"Blow the candle." Harry took the strudel and moved it closer to her. Hermione blew it making sure to make a wish. Harry took the candle off with an appreciative smile and began cutting the strudel in tiny pieces. He turned the fork to her and she took a bite. 

  
  


“ _ Hello? _ Hermione?" She'd forgotten that her cousin was still on the line. "Where are you? I heard another voice... A  _ man's  _ voice."

  
  


"Hello Fabian!" Harry called out when Hermione turned on the speaker. 

  
  


" _ Je n’arrive pas à le croire _ !" They heard Fabian scream and squeal with delight, followed by a noise which sounded like his phone falling on the floor or being thrown. 

  
  


"I can't believe it! I'm so happy for  _ us _ !" He went back on after a second. 

  
  


" _ Us? _ " Hermione repeated.

  
  


"Yes, bunny! We're just a few more steps to achieving  _ petit _ Fabian." 

  
  


"I am not naming my child Fabian!" She protested. 

  
  


"Two versus one, darling. I know Har-bear approves of the name Fabian. I heard him a moment ago."

  
  


"Har-bear? What on earth?" Hermione glanced at Harry who only shrugged with an amused grin on his face.

  
  


" _ Oh, _ I was trying that out. After all, Harry's going to be my boyfriend next month." Fabian said. 

  
  


" _ Your boyfriend? _ " She narrowed her eyes at Harry. Harry pretended to look innocent and proceeded to feed her more of the strudel.

"It's a one night only thing. We had this deal. Will tell you the details later. Anyway, I really think we should start syncing our calendars soon. Email me your ovulation days." Hermione nearly choked on the last bit. 

  
  


"What the  _ bloody hell _ for?" She was bordering annoyed. 

  
  


"For our baby! Let's not waste time. You two need to start going on a healthy diet. I'm sending you the meal plan. No more junk food for you two. Harry, eat a lot of pineapple!" Hermione groaned. 

  
  


"What's the pineapple for?" Harry shrugged and faked innocence again. 

  
  


"Don't encourage him!" She slapped his arm lightly. "Fabian, I think it's time we end this call. It's getting ridiculous. We're not going to have a conference over my sex life."

  
  


"Actually, it's  _ our _ sex life." Harry waggled his eyebrows, his voice husky and especially seductive. 

  
  


Hermione shook her head, a hint of amusement on her face that utterly betrayed her. Besides, much fun could still be had until it was time for her to catch her flight back to London tonight.

  
  


"We can always continue this next month when I'm in London. Enjoy your birthday, bun bun, and please  _ do _ overexert yourselves later. You need the practice!" 

  
  


"Your interest in my sex life is honestly disturbing. Go get laid, Fabian!"

  
  


"Oh but I did! Last night, I was at–"

"No, don’t want to hear it!  _ À bientôt! _ Goodbye!" She couldn't have pressed the button any faster. She put her phone down and looked at Harry who was laughing. 

  
  


"What?" 

  
  


"Nothing. Fabian is bonkers but I like him."

  
  


"Well that’s Fabian in a nutshell." She sighed. She looked at the now empty tray. "I sure hope this isn't our only meal." Harry rolled his eyes at her voracious appetite.

  
  


"I'll cook for you," he said, moving closer, “are scrambled eggs okay?” 

  
  


"Splendid." She peered at him as he moved closer and closer. 

  
  


"Hermione?" He asked. His face was getting even closer. 

  
  


"Harry?" She breathed out. They really were just a few inches apart. 

  
  


"Remember last night when you told me you just wanted to be friends for a while?" His body was nearly on hers. 

  
  


" _ Yes? _ " Hermione’s entire body was betraying her. She wanted to touch his naked skin, all muscular and hot. 

  
  


Harry didn't say anything. Instead he brought his face closer to hers. Heat pooled in her stomach as she felt his lips closing in on hers. Her whole body tingled as he wrapped her in his arms. He claimed her mouth, hungry and intense, and if she were standing right now her knees would have given out. Hermione lost all her senses as she became drunk with everything that was him. 

Just as she was getting into it, just as her senses regained a bit of control and she had slipped her fingers underneath his shirt and traced the ridges of his abdomen, he pulled away. She looked at him, in a daze, utterly confused and  _ very  _ frustrated. 

  
  


"Good luck,  _ friend _ ." He winked, leaving her there in all her arousal.

  
  


Hermione wanted nothing more but to slap that stupid smug look off his beautiful face.


End file.
